Self portrait in her house in sunlight, photo, author’s own.

Less and less, I want to leave my house these days,

other than for the water.

Instead, I stay and write, or

tend to gardens,

clinging to these

brick and mortar

walls.


Photo, author’s own.

Once I was autonomous,

a whole person,

standing straight-shouldered,

with attitude,

complete in my own skin,

within my own four, one-bedroom,

walls.


A surreal and moving moment right out of the pages of IN SIGHT OF STARS


Try The Pull of Gravity for a contemporary spin

screenshot from internet of first edition cover

Of Mice and Men on your kids’ summer reading list? Try “warming them up” or following up with THE PULL OF GRAVITY for a “choice” read. And maybe this little essay below written with the help of my friend, and extraordinary…


9/11, Pandemic & Shared Trauma: Coping with Our History through Story

photo credit: D. Cassidy with permission to author

This September 11th marks a staggering 20 years since many of us watched in horror as the iconic twin towers fell, and our nation was under attack.

Many of us still grieve the shock and trauma of that day…


(What I Wish I’d Said)*

The author with her sister, circa 1967. Photo credit: my own.

That time you came to visit and

we walked the streets of Boston

holding hands,

me in my new

drop-waist denim blue dress

(one of the few

pieces of clothing I pine for

still).

At Newbury Street,

we meandered in and out of all my

favorite shops

me, so happy…


A Mildly Sad and Desperate Idea from the Front

I have a love/hate relationship with social media, especially twitter, and the hate side keeps gaining ground. It’s not just the usual: the ugly politics, the righteous opinionated rants, the stupidity and falsehoods. The endless gifs and memes (ok, fine, I like those!)

A screenshot from the author’s private facebook page…

For a writer, it’s the goddamned comparison.


(Villanelle #5*, with luck and love on your first LA release)

In the hospital, the day you were born. Photo credit, author’s own.

My baby boy, a breath — now taken off on wing

3000 miles, a far, far way to go

I miss him so, but man, that kid can sing.


The least I can do is write you a poem

photo credit: Polisner (image is the author’s own)

I find myself in the city,

in my building (in this particular

nightmare

I have the keys,

don’t have to ask for them, use the

a small one to collect mail that

isn’t

mine),

take the elevator up (which I…

gae polisner

Just another writer trying to stay afloat in a sea of words. Author of several novels. Wannabe mermaid. Mother. Trying to age gracefully with no grace in sight.

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