Family gathering for the living and deceased Table spread with savory foods, rich bread, and sweets A voided space between realms filled with laughter Candles lit for prayer, protection, and to guide our loved ones along the way Water poured into fancy glasses for libations and hydration Music playing to raise the frequency of the…
Category: Life
My truth, your truth, whose truth?
The truth will set you free or hold others in captivity. Hear me out. We journey through life experiencing all of these beautiful lessons. I say beautiful because each experience is a lesson that leads to our expansion. That growth and expansion could be mental, emotional, physical, and/or spiritual. Nonetheless, growth is beautiful to experience,…
Bath house
Bath House. Private. Hidden sanctuary that only the lost souls can find. The map is their sorrow, their tears a stream of tranquil waters and their longing for healing keeps them afloat. Bath house. Private. Hidden sanctuary that only the broken souls have the password for admission. When they arrive at the gate, the whispers of…
Event Announcement + Four Poems
Before the final poems that I’ll be posting in my tenure as the Racine Writer-in-Residence, I want to say thank you to all the readers who have visited over the past six months. I would also like to invite everyone to attend the Open Mic & Performance Showcase I’ll be hosting as my community project…
Finishing the Hat
by Jessie Lynn McMains Since Stephen Sondheim died, I’ve had “Finishing the Hat” stuck in my head. “Finishing the Hat” is a song from Sondheim’s 1984 musical Sunday in the Park with George, and in some ways it is the consummate Sondheim song; one of the finest examples of the way he blended music and…
Haunting, Haunted, Haunts
by Jessie Lynn McMains All houses wherein men have lived and diedAre haunted houses.—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, from “Haunted Houses” Every house is a haunted house. The things which haunt them might truly be ghosts, or they may just be the ghosts of memory. They may exist independently of us, may reside in the pipes and…
August
by Jessie Lynn McMains The long summer yawns into August. It’s still summer—the hottest part. The dog days. Sultry, slow, the air so wet you can see it even at night, when the neighbors’ porch lights make it glow orange. There are bees in the lavender, cup-plants and pink lilies and goldenrod growing riotous in…
ArtRoot Writer-In-Residence 