Rommy Hears a Who

“Do you want
to travel through time and space?
Do you want
to see the stars?”
she asked.

My time travel needs were modest.
Back a year,
back to my old grade school
would have been enough.

“Have you seen
a sonic screwdriver?
Have you seen
a flying police box?”

Seen, no.
TV at home never
tended towards the fantastical.

Mom had her telenovelas.
Dad, his deportes. 
And sometimes we had sitcoms.

I had experienced traveling
on the printed word
to Narnia, Ithaca,
and yes, to Great Britain.

But I travelled alone
an odd bookish brown duck
used to floating
across imaginary ponds.

“Do you want to travel together?
Do you want to meet the Doctor?”


We turned to local PBS channel.
I didn’t mind the odd effects
and the villains
that looked like militant pepper shakers.

I traveled
with a companion that afternoon
and later, several other times
by myself

to the present
when my children were big enough
so I could ask them,

“Do you want
to travel through time and space?
Do you want
to see the stars?”

You never forget your first doctor

This poem was created for Poets and Storytellers United's Weekly Scribblings prompt, Meme Madness. 

There Still Will Be Pie

No need to pretend
that all of this is normal.
Tradition is not
needed to enjoy the taste
of each other’s company

Photo by Alex Loup on Unsplash

Liner Notes for this Groove:

Thanksgiving was never a big deal for me growing up. Oh sure, my mom sometimes tried her hand at American favorites like turkey (the horror… the horror…) but it wasn’t exactly her forte. I never felt bad about the lack of typical Thanksgiving fare, even when we had enough newly arrived family members to gather with on the last Thursday in November.

This is not the case with my husband’s side of the family. Their spread is the stuff of legends. Most of the members of his family are amazing cooks (including him). I didn’t even think I liked turkey until I got married. There were never even any of the heated political discussions I heard happened around other tables. I do recall one slightly conservative (for this family) brother in law getting gently roasted by his wife and then teenage daughter, but that’s about it.

This is the Thanksgiving celebration my kids grew up with. I wondered how much of the typical spread I needed to provide in order for it to feel special. So I was a little surprised when my Darling Youngest came to me with a gleam in their eye about purposely making it weird.

Nothing is normal about this Thanksgiving, so let’s lean into it. We’re not going to try to top Aunt Michele’s stuffing (whew… because that would be a tall order). We’re going to lean into the weird that is 2020 and make food that feels like a celebration to us, whether it’s traditional or not. Darling Youngest and my husband have been bonding over finding recipes to try (looks like bone marrow will be on the table).

We’re still figuring out a main course, but I know there will be one traditional thing on the table, sweet potato pie. I’ve never made one before, but a Facebook friend was kid enough to pass along their tried and true recipe. I can’t wait to enjoy that.  

Song Choice: Staying Alive by the Bee Gees

This post was created for Poets and Storytellers United's Weekly Scribblings prompt, Celebration.

November 2020

Morning walks in the fall always feed my soul, but today I am especially greedy for the gulps of air I get from the spirited winds flowing over my county. I need this moment to feel my breath flowing in and out of lungs that have so far stayed strong. I need this bit of peace… because who knows what will blow in on those winds?

Sweet crisp air cleanses
the stale breath I’ve been holding
before hell breaks loose.

Photo by Jennifer Griffin on Unsplash

This haibun was inspired by the Weekly Scribblings prompt on Poets and Storytellers United, The Eye of the Storm