Good morning, Pat!* Thank you for your email, seeking to hire me as an editor for your poems. By now, you’ve received my reply, where I explained that I don’t provide editorial services, only “creative companioning.”…
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A Rafter asked me to muse on the topic of shame and self-forgiveness. This poem is what emerged. Thank you, anonymous friend, for the prompt! THE SCAR’S APPEAL Phyllis Cole-Dai Look at me: I’m what…
Way back in January, I introduced to you the practice of writing centos. Here’s a refresher: A cento is a literary work, usually a poem, created exclusively from lines or phrases lifted from the work(s) of…
It’s a cold morning here in South Dakota. We’re expecting snow this afternoon, just enough to cover the ground in white-Christmas fashion. Here in our living room, the Christmas tree is lit. The hearth has…
A friend shows me a beautiful potted mum. Its rich orange-red buds have burst open with vibrant sprays of sun-yellow at their center. The plant—of a variety called “Autumn Sunset”—is simply gorgeous. “The garden center…
Dear Julie, Thank you for your sweet note concerning my work. Thank you, too, for entrusting me with this question that’s been weighing on your heart: “How does one hold both grief and joy at…
Wending your way through an art museum, you come to a gallery with two wooden chairs in the center. A small table separates them. White tape on the floor delimits a large square around the…
Recently I was in a “creative companioning” session with a woman I’ll call Suzanne. Companioning is a paid service I provide, helping individuals explore and catalyze their creative life. As a client identifies his or…
This is my version of a story I first heard from Laura Packer. I keep retelling it in different settings, because the world keeps needing to hear it. In the beginning, there was only light…
Shortly after midnight, I’m wakened by severe spasms in my belly and gnawing pain in my lower back. Almost at once I recognize the symptoms: kidney stones. I’ve experienced such an attack before. Passing big…
Mike the plumber was at our house last week, replacing a couple of old hot-water radiators. One morning, I asked him to pause his work and step into our main bathroom. “You smell sewer gas…
By the time you read this, I’ll be immersed in my annual mid-winter writing retreat. Eleven days of solitary work near San Diego, California. (Think: Sunny. Balmy. Green. Oceanside. Think: Not winter in South Dakota!)…
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