ERIN CONWAY

Threes.

Things come in threes.

Who said that first? 

Anyway, I didn’t have three.

I had one

R

Rosh Hashanah.

Somehow, Rosh Hashanah

Always forces considerations of all new years

The one that belongs to me in August

The one that belongs to the world in January.

My own

Status quo

I w...

Listen:  A Bibliography

Whose pen paints the colors?

I’m not writing, I chastise myself.

But, I’m listening.  I’m reading.

And, that is writing, I remind myself,

Listen.  And start a list.

“Intention.  Will.  Leadership. 

What are we doing about purpose, privilege,...

Stillness.  Fractions.

“We only have 10 days, two weeks, maybe.  That’s it.”  I remind the dog and myself.  I can’t look at his red, hair stripped eyes any longer so I lean back onto the couch and close mine.

Stillness helps.  Making myself small.  But, no one...

I turned 40 last year, and “I guess that’s a big deal,” said one of the cards I received.  So, this year is one more, forty plus one, or so I had said when the number was thirty instead of forty.

I wasn’t going to write a blog somehow attuned to my birthday this year, o...

How long will I wait

For the cactus.

Why?

Because I made the mistake

Within the mistake of

Waiting too long.

“It looks pretty dead,” Dad says when I put it in my window.

And I know he’s right.

But, at least its in real sunlight now.

Before it only soaked in fluorescent beams.

Ma...

Friends in/from Unlikely Places

Book One:

 “My name is and isn’t Ricardo De Jesús Blanco-Valdeés—christened for

     The sunlit and sea-song past of my parents’ island, carrying with-

     ered memories of their homeland like dry rose petals pressed...

“This summer sucks,” Dad commented.  I had tried to resist this statement.  After last weekend and the air gap in my new nitrate filter spurting water into every kitchen drawer, I was ready to accede his point.

“This summer sucks,” I said and plunked my feet on my...