The empty house that haunts my dreams
Thresholds into bare rooms that I never enter
We have lived here for ages
We have never lived here before
I hear the echo of years down the hall
The whisper of your lips grazing my skin
Did I say too much and spoil the dream
Before it even had a chance to begin?
-rjm
loose threads
a smattering of things
recent posts
about
Jo McCrory is a writer and artist living in northern California.
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Moving into quiet days
Summer months stretching long and thin
You flush in the heat and I
can see the boy you were
running wild in the sprinklers
with a skinned-knee girl
Maybe we were only meant to parent ourselves
Maybe being broken broke the cycle
Maybe mending happens this way,
with slow deliberation,
side-by-side at a distance
-rjm
loose threads 