In search of story


Disconnections: December 10.18


In feeble imitation

we aspire

in manmade constellation

of bulb and wire

to capture stars

of eons sired.

From night’s black depth

atop vast spire

two hoary lights,

amused, admire.



Thanks yet again to photographer S. W. Berg for this beauty.

And happy birthday to Emily Dickinson!




Disconnections: August 9.18


The day closes in layers —

palimpsest first

awaiting tomorrow’s script

inscribed by sandal and toe —

next water, rocking itself

in heavy-lidded blues,

slowing, nodding —

then birds, pulling cloud blanket

tucking in

a yawning world

dimming voices

on edge of dream —

atop, where wisps of day

linger like talcum

a so-distant moon

calls the stars.


Thanks yet again to photographer S.W. Berg.


Connections: March 8.18

I met Yum-Yum when I was a kid, banging out beloved Gilbert & Sullivan songs from an old piano book on our old upright. I accompanied myself, performing for a select audience (me). All the names in “The Mikado” were hilarious to me, as were many of the lyrics, but the lyrics to “The Moon and I” — or “The Sun and I,” if you prefer — were a stumbling block: I didn’t quite get the point. What IS she singing about?

“We really know our worth, the sun and I…We are not shy, the moon and I.”

Little did I know, back in the mid-50s when I stretched my tinny little voice over the notes, that I would take those lyrics with me the rest of my life.

I think of them now, as I marvel at the luminous white overhead. Without “a trace upon her face of diffidence or shyness,” the moon does not apologize for her beauty or her powers. Yum-Yum’s understanding of this unapologetic acceptance of, if not exultation in, one’s own gifts was mysterious to me then. Wasn’t she guilty of boast?

But I get it now. I see the moon, and I hear Yum-Yum with older ears. She’s right: there is an expectation that some oughtn’t be too talented, and they should apologize for their talents. They should be diffident and know their “place,” pretending to be less than they are. Her refusal to capitulate to such expectation comes back to me with every beautiful moonlit sky in my life, and it never fails to make me listen to her.


I know, dear reader, that this is International Women’s Day, but this post is coincidental to that. In my perception, Yum-Yum sings of something wasteful, yes, shamefully, but not exclusively, wasteful to women.