Our Own Front Porch

The sun is pouring through the front window and I’m trying to figure out what to write. I have little time. I’m working at the bookstore today. I’ve tried reading to see if it spurs me to write something interesting. I’ve read some great lines that I wish I wrote. I see time running out […]

Bright Kitchens of June

From an exercise I did with my young writing students: Tomorrow  by Nancy Schatz Alton Tomorrow is a continuation of sleepy yoga Wednesday. I’m waiting for the bright kitchens of June. Until then, let’s ignore the gravity of the future. The stunned red mittens faint, fall onto the bookshelf. My heart’s annoying lint makes lists; […]

Stretch

Decades ago, a friend gave me a bookmark that read: “Stretch yourself for greatness and for height.” (George Chapman, perhaps?) Lately I’ve been stretching myself. I’m not taller. And I think this stretching means I have more deadlines. Which means I’m tired. I’m writing this blog before I turn to more work. Prepping for the […]

My Beauty Uniform

My Beauty Uniform is a stretched-out sweater, pilling everywhere, light brown to highlight my fine-tresses. My Beauty Uniform is capturing your joy, the way your smile starts slow, slow enough that only I know you might flash a grin that makes people who think they know you take a closer look. My Beauty Uniform is […]

The days shorten, the deadlines thicken.

The days shorten, the deadlines thicken. Make haste while it doesn’t rain. Relish the crush of the leaves underneath feet. The days shorten, the deadlines thicken. A crash: the shower curtain gives up its elasticity forever. The leaves ground into carpet, the vacuum cleaner waiting. The days shorten, the deadlines thicken. I wake early, write […]

A New Fixed Place

A New Fixed Place by Nancy Schatz Alton I still see you in your broad striped onesie, blue & minty green watch you roll across the wood floor: you propel yourself where you want to go.   I read that I was your fixed place. Slowly, I am no-longer-your-fixed place. You are becoming your own […]

Uncombed

Eleven hours of sleep make me a cloud with nothing to say. A cloud with dishwater blond hair, stinky breath and coiled muscles. One with a brain thinking about language and how I overuse words. That is what’s next: creating a new dictionary for myself to feed my brain. Blogging every day is magical because […]

Making Sense of Nothing Making Sense

Making Sense of Nothing Making Sense by Nancy Schatz Alton   Reds still dot my daily view. Yellows turn to ochre. Brown dried leaves litter our floors. Ground down to particles—fall lives inside our home. The molds live in us. We wake to heat clicking on, dried sinuses— a tightness across our faces. Nothing to […]