A woman, by a river, indestructible.

Home again, home again, jiggety jig.

After taking in Makiya’s play; enjoying good conversation with Laurinda and her friend, Christina; bracketed by two days of driving; I’m happy to be home. My mom used to say that it’s nice to go away but it’s nicer to come home. She was right.

I just couldn’t do my usual podcast thing this trip, but enjoyed listening to Pádraig Ó Tuama’s Poetry Unbound. He has a way of reading and digging into the meat of a poem that I love. I’ll share one at the end of this post and you can check out the podcast to learn more about it.

Other than poetry, I was accompanied by Symphony Hall, Spa, and CBC Radio 3 on Sirius XM—and times of silence which, perhaps, I needed most of all. I arrived home weary, happy to see Gerry and the pups (who were all, it seemed, also happy to see me 🙂 ).

This morning, I’m looking forward to meeting  with my writing group on Zoom. Listening to women’s stories is always a rich and inspirational time. Thinking ahead to harvesting beets this afternoon if I don’t lose the little energy I’m starting the day with.

In other, excellent, news. The air was clear enough to sleep with the bedroom window open last night!  It looks clear again this morning so maybe we can finally enjoy spending some time in the backyard. I’m embracing the shift.

Anyway, here’s the poem I promised. I love it.

# # #

Wonder Woman by Ada Limón

Standing at the swell of the muddy Mississippi
after the urgent care doctor had just said, Well,
sometimes shit happens, I fell fast and hard
for New Orleans all over again. Pain pills swirled
in the purse along with a spell for later. It’s taken
a while for me to admit, I am in a raging battle
with my body, a spinal column thirty-five degrees
bent, vertigo that comes and goes like a DC Comics
villain nobody can kill. Invisible pain is both
a blessing and a curse. You always look so happy,
said a stranger once as I shifted to my good side
grinning. But that day, alone on the riverbank,
brass blaring from the Steamboat Natchez,
out of the corner of my eye, I saw a girl, maybe half my age,
dressed, for no apparent reason, as Wonder Woman.
She strutted by in all her strength and glory, invincible,
eternal, and when I stood to clap (because who wouldn’t have),
she bowed and posed like she knew I needed a myth—
a woman, by a river, indestructible.


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.

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