The Cloud


I say to my widow sister,

“Are you alright?”

She says, “I’m alright.

Are you alright?”

A little too quick

With a slight cut

As if I’m a fool

Forgetting the cloud

That hangs like a noose

Around her heart

Every time she

Swings or sways

It tightens around

Her eyes and neck,

Weighs on her

Shoulders heavily

Invisible to outsiders.

“I know” is what

I want to say

But the only thing

I know is how

Much it hurts

To watch her

Hurt so much.

Sisters into Women


Sisters. They grew up the same.

And so different.

The oldest spent time with mom.


By the time baby girl followed brother,

Mom was just trying to make it.

Baby almost didn’t—facing death at two weeks old.

But, she was a fighter, weighing in at over four pounds.

Making her way out of that oxygen tent.

Trying to find her place in a family

That seemed complete before her.

Daddy’s little girl: the oldest.

And mamma’s boy.

Both beat her to the punch.

Oldest being the good girl—good grades, good friends, Girl Scouts.

Brother the bad boy—broken bones, broken down cars, girls and broken hearts. Then, long after parents’ marriage fell apart,

Just on the verge of manhood, brother was gone

With the flip of his car.

Sisters had grown so different.

Oldest married with boys of her own.

Baby still trying to prove her independence.

Now, they shared the loss.

Later, another—their mother.

While each wound bound the sisters

Into strict loyalty and solid friendship,

It wasn’t until the oldest sister

Had the title widow forced upon her

Like a net dropped from the tree of life

That baby began to see all she’d missed,

Like the gifts the girls had gathered

On their way to becoming women.

Sisters. They grew up the same.

And so different.



Please send me your comments! I would love to hear from you- Alice


It’s Not the Other Person We Want Back


Sometimes we fool ourselves into thinking it’s the other person we want back. What we want is the part of ourselves that pranced bold and brave into the hands and heart of that lover.

We crave our confidence and strength. Mostly, we long for the kind of faith our infatuation and falling in love ignited. Faith like that feels like flying.

After we’ve fallen, getting back the other person appeals and feels like setting things right. WRONG.

The effort we put into praying for and attracting another is the energy we need to enact for ourselves. From our deeper selves we give birth to our new and better selves.

It’s metamorphosis. You don’t stop transforming because it’s a little sticky in here. Do you not imagine yourself a beautiful winged bird, the phoenix emerging from the ashes?

There’s no magic. You will go through darkness. Perceive yourself having the iridescence no less than a dragonfly.

The lover back there, the one you wanted to go back for, the one you’d turn your back on yourself for, maybe all along, he was just a mosquito.



Swinging off Grief Street


My sister’s swinging off grief street

After husband one-and-only of

Thirty-three years died last year.


I’m a dancing divorcee—round

Two and already betting

Against the third.


Even though she lost her husband

And even though it hurts like hell

She’d sign up for marriage again.


For right now, I’m holding her hand

And she’s holding mine while I

Remember the good of companionship.


After having gone it alone for so long.

I’m her baby sister, playing substitute for him.

A double win despite unbearable loss.


But, bear it, she does.

And every day I learn a little bit more about

Why that guy never left her side—it’s comfortable.


And why she liked having him around—

Someone to share simple fun with.

My sister and I don’t have what we dreamed.


But we’ve got each other.

My sister’s swinging off grief street.

And me? I’m gaining ground.



Men, you came to me

Eager, focused, enthusiastic,

Needing, wanting, desiring

Me, your only goal.

I jumped into your arms—willingly.

Then, you turned away

Leaving me baffled,

Bewildered, wondering

Why I succumbed

To charms now denied.

You made me realize

My own power.

You can walk on, men.

You can come back,

Calling on me,

Begging for affection.

It’s not rejection, guys

That I’m aiming your way,

But more an understanding

Of what you cannot do,

Of all I am & all I can do.

More than beauty,

More than a body,

A soul, a spirit,

Seduction beyond all

You ever offered.

I am a woman,

Full, present, real.

And, thanks to you,


You came to me, but

I have come into my own.