
Facing the old dreams
Memories long since hidden
Those things frighten me
poetry, prose, and photography

Facing the old dreams
Memories long since hidden
Those things frighten me
Sandra Bacchi, a Pittsburgh based photographer and cinematographer I discovered via Edge of Humanity Magazine. Her current project, “Watermelons Are Not Strawberries” stuns me with its beauty.
‘Watermelons Are Not Strawberries’ is a work-in-progress, as I continually seek to better understand myself and increase my awareness of how I react to challenges related to my experiences as a mother. The photos reveal to me how uncertain and obscure my life became with motherhood. At the same time, there is an undeniable clarity in how my daughters lead the way for me to follow a brighter path as I journey through my everyday life.
My favorite image from this collection. I adore how the girl’s dress blends so well with the tree’s summer-lit leaves.
Also check out We Are All In This Together, another of her collections.
I’m experimenting with sharing more than just my poetry. There are so many beautiful things out there which I desire to share. Our world, so filled with ugliness and rage, needs to see more beauty.
Wishing each of you a refreshing and recharging weekend.
A freshman committed
Suicide
Died last night,
I hear the wail
Of robbed potential,
The silent home
A room, empty,
Where homework
Should be studied,
Driving lessons
Rehashed,
Proms planned,
Eventually weddings, childbirth
Joyful transition
Parent
To grandparent,
Planning OUR funerals,
Not of a child.
Funerals for children
Brutal
Life is fragile.

Moving through mid-day
I step outside and reclaim
Focus and vision
I entertained other paths
Other work
But this remains strong
I guess I cannot
Escape
Thus I should
Surrender
Into,
Then through,
My fear
Only I shall remain

These moments of joy
Nothing is more glorious
Sunlight on petals

Rain has returned
It feels more like Seattle
The one of my memory
So much of my life has been spent in the presence of Seattle’s rain. Though it chills my skin, it warms my heart.
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By studying emptiness
We become filled with beauty
Autumn’s gentle rains