Some Calla Lilies my husband bought for me last weekend in honor of Mother's Day and my birthday, which I picked out at my favorite nursery, S &. K Greenhouse. I've been cautious with roses for two years, simple because of the Japanese beetles. While I've written about my concerns about Japanese beetles and the… Continue reading Coming Up Calla Lilies
Category: PTSD
My Daughter’s Hands
One isn't weak because they break from the storm set to take the love you won’t forsake. Harsh words reflect shadows we cannot shake.
The Call to Write about Trauma
I wrote some meaningful poems during that time.
I wrote some crappy, thirteen-year-old blow your nose in notebook paper poems.
The Thing about Memorial Day
During Coronavirus, I have admired the different steps people have taken to show kindness when I thought it was going the way of the dinosaurs. Just as my son with autism believes dinosaurs will make a come back, kindness has made a small comeback. We need, as a society, to take kindness to the next… Continue reading The Thing about Memorial Day
What You Need to Know about Trauma: Pushing People Away
Why do people who experience trauma push others away? Let's talk about it. Click the link below to The Bridesmaid Reject. Features new pictures and art by my son and I. via What You Need to Know about Trauma: Pushing People Away
Hear the Sparrow
June has come, and I hear the sparrow. A woman tells me Her husband says, “I didn’t know the stress you were under ‘til you left that place. When you came to a better place, I got you back.” I rush home in my van to tell you the good news. There is hope, I… Continue reading Hear the Sparrow
A Better Place, a poem
"Get up and smile," someone says. "You're going to a better place." They say it like "All dogs go to heaven." Your best pet went to live on a farm upstate. The battles are over, The fires put out, Some think I'm crazy to compare a house of learning to the place where militia hide… Continue reading A Better Place, a poem
Daisies on the Fields of France, a poem
Daisies on the Fields of France By Rebecca T. Dickinson I stand at the kitchen door with light lemon hair curling at my shoulders. Untucked, gray shirt as eyes stare at another plain in my mind that no soul-stained teacher wants to see or hear again. Meet me in the here and… Continue reading Daisies on the Fields of France, a poem
Travel in the Writer’s Wilderness: Hope when Others See What is Lost
I'm like a house that's been set on fire. Firefighters put it out in time to save it. The house is only damaged. It can be restored and made more beautiful than before.
Corrie's Season 