The Morning After

The Morning After

I wake up. A splitting headache plagues me from the night before.

But that’s not what woke me. 

We were in a beautiful chateau somewhere in the middle of whoknowswhere.

We were making small talk with the owners, two older women whose life dream it was to put together this quaint getaway complete with an open floor of beautifully adorned ponies. 

We were discussing our evening meal choices, while he and I were smiling, making jokes with them, settling in. Suddenly he is behind me, strong and powerful rubbing up against me, and it is Him, Us, we are together again, it had been so long, but now it is true, finally and really true. I turn to him and he whispers a sweet something in my ear. My flesh is burning for him, my pussy aches for him, it has been years, decades even, since my long time boyfriend, my first real love, and I were together, and every so often he had entered – my dreams.

And now, here he was in the flesh, but it wasn’t just a fleeting moment, this was our life, our new life together, and I hadn’t remembered being this excited about anything at all. I turn to him and whisper under my breath, “should we pretend we need a nap?” and just as eagerly he nods, “definitely.”

I run up the stairs. There are endless stairs in this chateau. My body tingling with a rush of heat. Feeling like a little girl whose deepest wish is finally coming true. I am huffing and puffing now, but keep climbing the stairs, when will the stairs end? I reach the pony stable and look around, lost, defeated. I ask someone and she points up. I see 3 bedrooms upstairs. I run up and someone points to ours. It is small, cozy, but it is all we need. Then I realize he isn’t there. Eagerly and impatiently, I lean out and call his name. By default, and by some kind of cruel joke from the universe, my husband’s name comes out. But it doesn’t matter. The sentiment’s the same – whatever name is uttered.

Then, suddenly, he reemerges. He peeks his head out of the pony stable, and I realize he is riding a pony. For a second all kinds of naughty bareback scenarios come to my mind, and me in a gymnastics split, or leg up in the air hovers over his body as if I could just float from the railing and land in the perfect position with a lovely pirouette. “Abandon the pony,” I command, sultry and very clear. He does just that. His footsteps are thumping up the stairs and I can almost taste his breath as I hear his footsteps sprint. Almost as loud as my heart. Badaboom badaboom badaboom. Closer. He is getting closer. My body is aching. My heart beating out of my chest. So close. So close. So many years of desire, of longing, and here he is. Here he comes! I hear the creak of the door, and in a moment he will be here, with me on me in me, my beautiful wild knight from long ago, ready to make mad wild passionate love touch lick fuck scream…  my body dripping with anticipation….

I wake up.

A hint of tingle hums between my legs. 

A terrible and profound disappointment sweeps through me.

I lay still. Stunned.

The morning sun shines in. 

Time to homeschool. 

I cooked

I cooked

There’s something really special about cooking for yourself. 

I have been married 16 years, have 3 elementary aged children, and day by day I am usually making something for them. Which often ends up being meat. Or sweet. Or sweet meat. maybe maple salmon but a soy based marinade or pasta and meatballs, etc – now, mind you those meatballs inevitably have kale in them and the pasta is gluten free…but still it’s kid/man friendly food. 

so when my husband picked up and took the kids on vacation for the week while I stayed to recover from a concussion, yes, concussion, but that’s another story – I couldn’t watch tv, surf the web, exercise, run around too much, all doctor’s orders – i had to – yes, I had to REST.

Now I know you can sympathize. REST is not a word that comes into our vocabulary too often. I mean not pseudo rest like when you pretended to be sick so you could stay home and watch tv but REAL REST – no screens, no exercise, no awesome social encounters, not even too much phone – just REST. For anyone in this day and age that is a feat. For a mom of 3 it’s like – what just happened? Who pulled the plug – on EVERYTHING?!?

The first day was pretty bleak. Dark. Still. Alone. Quiet. I never heard the quiet be quite so loud. A whole lot of nothingness. And then the thoughts around it – is this what my life is when the kids aren’t around? A lot of nothingness? Is this what it will be like when they leave the house? panic. I don’t have a passion right now, I don’t have a career, I don’t have a hobby. I am hobby-less!!!!!!!!! Lonely and alone and passionless and friendless! What is even the point!!!

The next two days friends came over. I felt better. But tired. 

I knew what I had to do. I knew what I was being FORCED to do – goddamnit, this former meditation teacher couldn’t find any more excuses it was so damn obvious. I had to meditate. I had to. I mean I literally had nothing else to do. So I did. 

It was ok. Kind of empty. But I did it each day To pass the time. And I cooked. Because it didn’t involve a screen, gave me something to do, and came with an amazing reward at the end. And I cooked. I cooked for MYSELF. I don’t remember the lat time I cooked for myself. Red lentil stew, fava beans with lemon cumin and jalapeno, kale salad, kale steamed, kale sauteed, couldn’t get enough fucking kale, rice with cumin and turmeric, fresh ground flax, nutritional yeast on top, ginger mint tea, artichoke with vegan chili lemon aioli. I’m  a good cook! Who knew:)?

And it was pretty! I never do the presentation thing but suddenly it was pretty. It was pretty and delicious and each meal satisfied me in this way – something about cooking it for myself with love – it surprised me. Cuz I cook for others. not just for my family. I love having 25 people over for dinner and that’s when I really cook. And I love it – I love when people ooo and aah and go on and on. So why – why cook for me?

I would say cooking for myself this week has been  nourishing, soothing and holding – even more so than the acupuncture and bodywork, the meditation, it’s just been a gift. A gift for myself. for my body. for my healing.

It’s like – like I am being my own mom this week. And with my mom gone now almost 12 years, I missed me – I missed me mothering myself and being mothered. Hi Mom. Thank you. My belly sends you love. 

Picture Perfect

Picture Perfect

Would you like to see my house? The antique chandelier, terrazzo floors. Guess what? I’ll  wear Gucci for you, shoes Christian Louboutin, hair perfectly coiffed, sheen and lacquered, eyelashes curled, teeth pearly white as delicacies abound.





Hello. Would you like to see my house?

It’s on the top floor. Isn’t that where you want to be? Penthouse they call it, yes, that’s me. Come on in. Shhhhh!

Foyer. Do you want to see my house? Look at the antique chandelier, the terrazzo stone floor. I’ll wear Gucci for you, shoes Christian Louboutin, hair perfectly coiffed, sheen and lacquered, eyelashes curled, teeth pearly white and shining, smiling ear to ear. 

Three little dolled up children will run up to greet us as we enter the palatial expanse, arches bend towards us as the palatial domed ceilings embrace us, the rose fluffy carpet singing underneath our feet. The colors in the room will embrace you while the waves outside will lull your eyes, the royal velvet couches with the leopard print, the Italian chandelier handmade murano glass surrounding you with each sconce cawing like a siren. Yesssss, you will think, as our smiles endear you, yessss, you will feel, as delicacies are passed, the finest scotch or cognac made perfectly for you.

We will whisk you then, you still enraptured, with clever conversation a smile and joke, while the world’s perfect grandparents arrive, beautiful and lively and full of stories of country stars and comedians from another world, distant but in their not so distant past, story after story with a charming smile, and you will adore them, oh yes, you will adore, as another drink gets whisked your way, another nibble makes its way onto your lips.

You are in the “ruby room” now, as we like to call it, the Moroccan den crawling with carpets and fabrics, where the children like to sit, hukkahs hover in the corners, the world’s most endearing checkered velvet couch beckons you in, the tapestry shipped straight from Morocco encases you, dozens of tiny little aqua Turkish lamps speckling the rich cherry ceiling, flicker about, beckoning to the ocean’s serenity outdoors.

The children will encircle you full of joy; one will bedazzle you with a piano concert fit for Salieri, another will flip around like Mary Lou Retton, the third will flash his winning smile while you lose yourself in his sea green eyes. If you bring your own little wonders they will run off together and the joy and the laughter will overtake. Thissssss you will  believe, you will know with every fiber that is you, thissss is magic.

Eventually we will emerge into the piece de resistance, gilded in every direction, a 20 foot long dining room, the glass top set beautifully with in laws’ china, sterling silver cutlery and a cloth napkin perfectly folded with each seat displaying Its own unique ancient napkin ring. The glasses, bought in auction, match perfectly, each uniquely made in Eastern Europe, where they hovered for a stay at the ambassador’s home, a palace that made our home look like a shack.

The blessings will be said while the children each cuddle up and the joy in the singing will abound. The food will come out in troughs, and it will be delicious – after the zucchini soup gets snatched up by the help, out comes the apricot glazed chicken, perfectly crisped, as moist as can be, accompanied by a must use gravy boat, saffron rice with peas, lamb chops, a rainbow colored salad, vegetables spiced to delight the palate, like you’ve never had before, and bread so moist you’ll use it to sop up whatever lingers on your plate. 

You will anticipate dessert, as well you should, as the dark chocolate pies hiding in the oven spread their beguiling scents across the home…

You will leave the night entranced, excited, mesmerized, enchanted…

I will leave the night exhausted. There will be pride, the joy of creating a masterpiece, a picture of dorian gray, a tour of the senses, an image of what could have been what could be and what is… and then …

On a quiet night, perhaps the next night perhaps later in the shadows, in my lonely bed, a tear will drop perhaps another, I have a secret, I will nod, a secret too too much to say, the bottles and the glasses whisked away each crumb removed the helpers smiling padded in their pockets have gone home, and I, I have a secret….

I remember with a smile, a smile and a tear, those days when a secret was a power, something to announce at a playground, run around with and giggle in the corner, something special only we knew, we could keep it we could own it we could walk with the strength of that bond…

But this secret – it is quiet, unassuming, stuffed inside, a tiny little worm gnawing at my insides far too long without discovery, I have a secret and it’s eating me it’s pawing at me it’s scraping me away and it’s hidden so deeply inside that my outside is a shell a smiling pretty shell and my inside is quietly but quite aggressively assaulted, devoured.

When I was living in New York, in my 20’s, I had a cat. She was black and white and prickly with others but super sweet with me. She had been rescued, and in fact, I hadn’t meant to keep her. I fostered her one day, having seen the ASPCA outside, and within a day she was mine, temporarily. My sister, the doctor, had been staying with me that week, which was a blessing for the cat, who it turned out was sick, and if it was just me I may have sent her back shrugging my shoulders. But a doctor friend nursed that baby back to health. And then she was just mine, I was the person she saw day in day out, and she was my little dependant. We were a team and each night she slept on my face as I drifted off to sleep…

A few years passed and suddenly I was sick, a kind of environmental sick, systems shutting down it was unclear from what. Eventually we tracked it back. It was Yalla. I was allergic to my little person, to this tiny being who depended on my every move. This little ball of love was making me ill. I couldn’t give her up I thought, not Yalla, so I kept her around, spoke lovingly to her, sang to her, but just didn’t touch her. Within a month, she was horribly depressed. Her eyes grew empty, her movements grew slow, and I knew what I had to do. As painful as it was, I found a special shelter where they actively place cats. And within the month, she had found a home with another black and white dog and she was happy. And I was alone.

The children cuddle me they love me they give me their love, their admiration and it fills me and makes me happy. My husband fills the home with humor and adventure and with things. A few friends drizzle about, the number has dwindled as my story has grown quiet, but those who are there are there have listened and offered wisdom. The emptiness has grown.

I have a secret. It is so damn buried that even as I sit down to write it I am unable to I am frozen I am scared. Fear abounds with each key stroke and I cannot write. My heart hurts. My heart just hurts. I am alone inside, the shell remains. 

The glitz and glamour the gild surround me, the colors abound, the things mount up, the glory glows, that which once mattered dwindles, the world shrinks, the heart hurts, and I am here, frozen, wondering when the next step will step forth….

Poem for my highly sensitive daughter(from her highly sensitive mother)

Poem for my highly sensitive daughter
(from her highly sensitive mother)

I want to crawl into bed with you
For hours
And stroke your hair
And let you cry
Just cry forever
Cry it out
Until you can’t cry anymore
I want to teach you where the tears end
And the laughter begins
I want to show you
How to live fully you and freeeeee….!



A message to my highly sensitive daughter from her highly sensitive mother
Who has finally learned to navigate the world
And is ready to unlearn it.
For all the times I said “be nice” “calm down” “get a hold of yourself” “don’t cry”
I am sorry
For all the times I said act right, be a good sport, be calm, roll with it, let it go
I am sorry

You are a gift wild and wonderful
Filled with rage and love and largesse
You the tiny little flower who roared at older kids when they touched your toys
Who wants to understand how not to cry
When others are so cruel
Who feels the unrest and the anger and the frustration
How do I teach you to be wild and free and untamed
In this this one world we are a part of 

You know what’s right
You see
You know where
You are celebrated
And where you aren’t
The places where your tenderness
Screams weak screams target
And where you start to think it just might be
And you say NO
I don’t want to go there
That school is wrong for me
And you are right i know you’re right
I hate it too
My love

I want to crawl
into bed with you
For hours
And stroke your hair
And let you cry
Just cry forever
Cry it out
Until you can’t cry anymore
I want to teach you where the tears end
And the laughter begins
I want to show you
How to live fully you and freeeeee….!

But I am caged
My sweet little bird
I too am caged
The power in me has collapsed is hiding
Crouching waiting yes I know
But that’s what you are feeling
Me muted
You say
That I am beautiful
You want to look like me

I say
You are beautiful
But it’s all twisted up in there
And it’s all twisted up in here
I just want to hold you and let you let it out
Let all that disappointment and negativity and rule making and rule breaking
Pour out of you

Write my child
Dance my child
Stretch your body in every beautiful way
My sweet bendy girl whose feet can touch her head frontwards and back
Inside and out

I don’t bend that way
But I am ready to find the way
To stretch and twist and scurry

To my beautiful daughter
Take my hand
I will take each step slowly
But I promise to keep taking the steps
So I can
walk into the fire with all of you
hand in hand breath by breath word by word
Protected only by what’s true
The guidance of the heart

Staring fiercely into the blackness of the unknown
Knowing only this
Not that not that but
This this THIS
ALL ALL ALL of this my child
Is what it means
to  be alive



The Prince

The Prince

She takes him out, and he is large and beautiful, standing at attention, he moaning as she caresses him in her hand, she kisses his nipples his navel his everything inching down down down down, he moans he holds he caresses he kisses, the softness of his skin the power of his arms



She writes. 

She sits in her red red room, her plush cushions surround her, an air of excitement rises up in her, she takes a breath, he is near. 

The palpations of the heart, that smile that crawls into the soul from every crevice everywhere. That tingle when you first hear that voice, feel that touch, see that smile, lock eyes.

That millisecond when you know when you realize that that which was not allowed will now be, that the gates of the heavens have opened, lightning has struck, the lotto numbers have been announced, and now yes now yes now this moment is the moment when two souls will find each other, that space where the entire body shouts and is alive and cries out YES! Cries out NOW cries out HOW cries out. Silently, but with all of you, your insides and your outsides, where your Self becomes so huge so grandiose so ginormous and all of you fills the universe so brightly so magically all because this one person this one other being in the world has seen, sees, feels, is excited, has noticed has opened has valued has expanded has dropped in has checked in has felt and is feeling and knows and is learning and is fascinated and wowed and enlivened and touched and connected with you, none other than you. And it’s not that it’s you it’s that it is s/he who sees you, this one other person who you have noticed and felt and known and dreamt of and been excited by and wished for and longed for and get so excited by that your whole body shakes THIS this one one person is the very person who is at THIS very moment is leaning towards you. Who has broken the barrier of no return, the barrier of you and me, whose head is inching nearer whose eyes are getting softer whose whisper of a breath you can feel on your face….

Touch. Soft and tender tingling. She licks her lips. Closes her eyes.

He is there, chocolate and delicious, his voice melodious and full, his large hands tickling her everywhere, her back, her hair, her arms, her hands, he went there -anywhere – living in the intimacy of the simplest touch. He was staying in a palace, a New York city palace, that’s where he would stay when he came to teach, where she found him in a free yoga therapy class, teaching, what else of course, but anatomy. “Rest and digest,” he would croon, breaking down the parasympathetic nervous system as only he could, and that voice would turn on everything in her. He was about her age now, at the time, she realizes; it was if she had been living in another universe, another being altogether, a 20 something performer thriving in New York… The next time he came to teach it was everything and they went at it in that palace clothes rolling off like condoms completed of their use, jumping into each other’s skins catapulted to a world of sensuality and pleasure…. And then that moment that very moment when he may have he might have but she wasn’t quite sure, but she also was so sure, and then he stopped “if you’re not sure, we shouldn’t” – what? Wait, what?!? – shouldn’t he convince her now by words or by touch-by his every perfect touch- but instead he stopped and decided for her that she needs to check in for herself. Oh. Ok. It stopped, slowed down, as the night ended sweet and slow, inching towards a halt. 

The next fucking night she was damn fucking sure. Her body calling to him, practically ambushing, planning the attack ever since the denouement. The hellos the small talk the slow kiss the touch, the clothes off the touching god that touching, his fingers knew exactly where to go where to touch how to touch, his voice deep and soothing, his hairless body, powerful hold,tickling and touching, tingling and powerful every single sensation giggles and sighs, panting and pleasure. 

She takes him out, and he is large and beautiful, standing at attention, he moaning as she caresses him in her hand, she kisses his nipples his navel his everything inching down down down down, he moans he holds he caresses he kisses, the softness of his skin the power of his arms, the perfect fucking skill guiding her every which way, as she moves his hips on top of hers.

 “You sure?” he mumbles, though this time he can barely get the words out, as they fumble for the condom, because words won’t stop her, can’t stop her, and even though he is just the third person she had slept with she has never been so damn sure of anything, her body every damn body deserves a little Antonio in their life, beautiful sensitive, massive, skillful healing and gut wrenching filling so filling, he turns her over, or does she turn over, she can’t remember every bit of her is open, engorged awaiting reacting – oh, the pain, in remembering, in connecting to thet joy to that bliss, to that – he is entering her, and she has never felt so full, so engulfed, so engulfing, a rush of shudder of otherworldly rainbow iridescent light and power, the overwhelming overarching tingle pouring through her veins…. She has been transported she is somewhere she’s on mars she is venus it lasts a lifetime, or only a second she realizes as he comes to her body has shuddered and traveled, she has soared to such pleasure, she is here, he is still in her, an eternity a short trip some kind of heaven, no heaven is too “good” to be that gooood. And he’s still in her and it’s still wonderful, but these seconds have been hours and yet it’s just been seconds and she can’t even begin to understand how he hasn’t come because she has and she is and she is and she is and she is and she is and she is and she ….

And then FOREEEEEVER  later he tenses and releases and they both collapse, a pile of bodies as beaten as two corpses, but wet and hot and writhing and very much alive. She has drifted she is ocean she is stream she is – her throat catches, her tears lift, her heart aches, her body mourns, she deserves this doesn’t she? She can have this can’t she? She needs this doesn’t she? Tears stream down her face now, her body begging for some love some attention some knowing after all it is here here to serve her every need… 

It has been ages. Since she remembered, since she traveled to that place, it was only earlier that day that she realized she could she would all she needed to do was to set pen to paper, to open the page and to write, and there he would be, her magical antonio, gallant and gorgeous upright and ready, standing at attention, just waiting to be engulfed, her legs knowing exactly where to wrap around him, a dance of two bodies just knowing every move, giggling and playing laughing and rolling joking and exploring sharing and pleasuring.

To pleasure another. To feel deep pleasure just in being in the presence of another. She can barely remember. She knows it, sure, when her child crawls onto her lap, or is excited to just see her, and she theml, that mutual light up that happens every day and multiple times a day, she knows even the difference in the mother child chemistry of each of her children, the desire to hold or cuddle or discuss or enlighten or just be… 

She knows too that sense of recoil of disgust of pure apathy a person can feel from a partner, she feels it every day from him as he rushes past her unseen and untouched, heading to his repose the gambling room upstairs…. She doesn’t really mind, most of the time, she feels it too, they never really had it, they had a dream, they had good times, they shared wishes and hopes and fantasies. And children. They share children.

The tears build. They are stuck now in her throat. Pushing and building up like a boiling water rocket pushing to break through, “it’s fine,” she often thinks, “there is so much good here, so much privilege, so much happiness, so fun, there are friends here, we are friends here, what will happen if it’s all undone?

This body has been silent. These tears are all pushed down. This voice doesn’t shrill or pant or beg or moan this head doesn’t roll back these eyes don’t half shut this body doesn’t shudder this soul doesn’t still fly, there is no melodious voice there is no inching closer no sense of wonder or alive no flutter just from the moment this moment of together no knowledge you are there, someone is there, who loves her more than anything who cherishes her every move who sees her feels her loves her dreams of her fantasizes wishes yearns dreams of her her her her and that that person that soul that touch that hold those few seconds that sing for an eternity, that now here in the dearth of everything those few seconds so alive that my insides tingle and remember every last sensation now as were alive 20 years ago, a halt of time of space of heart of body. 

Thank you. Thank you, she whispers, Antonio, for your gift to me. For the reminder that everything is not “fine” that I felt more alive in those few moments with you than i have felt in a very long time. And yet, I do not yearn for you, Anotonio, my friend, my heart, my brother, it has mutated now, I see you with your love and I am deeply happy for you, my dear dear friend. I see your soul smiling as you travel the world with its mate. My heart sings as I feel it. You give me hope. You once were tied to the all wrong person and you broke free. And now you and your queen galavant around the world wearing your love as proudly and beautifully as you should. It is no small task to emerge from that voyage victorious. Open and in love after battle wound after battle wound avenging in the high torrid seas. I honor you, Antonio, you and your beautiful queen, for you give me strength. You, who knew this body intimately who voyaged with me and lovingly ravaged me and befriended me and lent me your healing wand. You dipped in your sword and anointed me. I too will break my chains, strip away my bondage, find the courage to announce my truth, declare my independence, steak my flag and fleeeeee! And then one day, HE will be there, not in a world long ago, not in a dream, not in a yearn but in a here in a now in every whispered moment, in every word, every caress, it will be HIm. And I. Will. KNOW. 


Circle of Women

Circle of Women

when you build

a circle of women

i mean a real circle of WOMEN

Women who laugh and cry and howl at the moon

women who enGAGE enRAGE


clench their teeth

attack a pillow

dance with abandon

strip down naked

Lace right back up in sexy-ass garments

that hug and hold and shimmer and swish

women that aren’t afraid to smear their menstrual blood on their pretty little punims

then wash it off and go make dinner

and do the dishes

a child in one arm

swishing at the hip to ani de franco with the other

when you join a circle of women

women whose hearts are on fire

and souls are enthralled

and touch is infectious

And voices enraged

and yonis are pulsing

and bodies are tingling

whose veins writhe and pump 

yearning and stepping up to go shake up the godamn world

heart first minds later

when you join this circle 

the circle judgment free zone

Each of these superwomen who have been shoved kicked ignored pushed down

then found their way through the maze to a new beginning

fiercely and powerfully wrapped in their power suits

Of magenta or leopard-skin thick cuffs of gold

calling to the earth like the new female tarzan 

Aaaaaa- aaaa – aaaa – aaa – aaaaa!

Swinging from tree to tree not knowing if it will catch you cuz

when you join this circle 

something happens

and nothing can stop you


because you know 

the circle’s got you baby

this fucking circle is your fucking lifeline

Your velvet ruby red lifejacket with pearls

and you’re writhing in it

        climbing in it 

        flying through it

        you are everything you dreamed you would be 

        and they are everything they dreamed they could be

        and together you are that just that

a circle of phenomenal fucking women

wild and glorious and magical and free.

when you join that circle of women

there is nowhere in this fucking earth you’d rather be.