Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Tara Robinson on Unsplash

When I jog, I metabolize my grief. It comes out in staccato burps from my heavy chest. “It’s not comfortable, but you can do it.” That’s the eternal message from the cardio gods.

When I was a kid, I left my body during dance recitals and experienced my performance with the audience. I couldn’t take all those eyes. Now it’s part of my daily dance with grief.

The phrase grief-stricken doesn’t really cut it for me. I feel grief-inundated. Grief-blanketed and enclosed. It’s bigger than my body. And it takes up home in my chest.

I’m meeting unknown parts of…


Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

I’ve been reborn into
The World of Sensations
Baby pink sweater
Child laughing
Brown soda pop dancing on the tongue

I find it hard to believe
How much there is to feel
~to attune to~
Have you noticed the camera angles on The Office?
One can say a lot just by zooming in

I think I’m finally able to zoom in on life
The mundane is extraordinary
The shower, makeup, hair extravaganza is pleasurable
The way I check my body in the mirror each day
for impurities and fat is saddening
But I had hardly noticed that on
AUTOPILOT

Where…


Image for post
Image for post
Photo by pierangelo bettoni on Unsplash

Yesterday Momma told me to pack my bags ’cause we’re going to see Grandpa in Elko. She doesn’t realize I already have a bag packed. Got a duffel bag under my bed next to the stack of report cards I’ve been saving. We’re supposed to get those report cards signed by our parents, but I told the art teacher, Ms. Jones, that Momma died last fall so no one bugs me about that, anyway. The duffel bag’s got enough candy bars for a few days of eating and then my favorite sweater, Stripes, and some jeans. I don’t like that…


Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Cindy Tang on Unsplash

I’d just had my springtime date with alcohol. Suicidal thoughts seized my brain. They weren’t just passing through anymore; they were a relentless storm. I got ready to weather my malfunctioning neural pathways, which connected like lightning to the ground.

Another six months of isolation; choosing between the front porch or the back porch for my cigarette. Netflix in my bedroom or on the couch? Talk to my family or shut them out? My normal.

A year later, another night blacked out and vacant.

I don’t quit my job, I just leave. The germs are too threatening and they understand…


Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Zoltan Tasi on Unsplash

My right eardrum ruptured when I was assaulted by a man 8 years my senior
But it makes for good volume control at night
Deaf ear facing the ceiling, the low hum of the furnace disappears

I am confined to a small windowless room during a pandemic
My twinkle lights shine bright
And the morning light never wakes me

An earthquake shook my asbestos-laden home,
Stealing all sense of safety
But my furniture makes every place I land feel like home

It is Easter and there is no family get-together But mom is making fancy potatoes She gave me an…

Blithe Anderson

In a partnership with the English language; on a mission to dispel myths, bridge gaps, and draw boundaries.

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store