Dreams of Diaspora

Ever since I can remember, I have had a recurring dream of having to leave my home and travel to a new place, only to find I have to travel to another place again, and then another. There are often elements of fear to the dream - feeling like I am running from someone or some group. At the beginning of the dream, I am always trying to desperately pack as much as I can, gathering up photographs and trinkets all familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time.
Danny Boy - Conly Basham
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Please feel free to listen to my cover of the beloved Irish folk tune "Danny Boy" as you look through the photo gallery I've included.

Born to Fly


Dad hears Joni Mitchell lyrics

While marching in his dress blue hues;

And my Mom loves big band jazz,

see her tap her toes beneath the Sunday pew.


You can read them like a book,

View what it took to go from “A” to “B” to “C”...

But don’t hang them up on the line to dry -

We all need an escape.


I’m an only child.

I was sweet and mild and sang like Dorothy.

Jumped up on the stage to perform

Like it didn’t mean a thing, didn’t hurt.


You can read my memory like a book

Viewing what it took to go from “A” to “B’ to me.


But don’t hang me up on the line to dry -

I was born to fly.

Small town girl

in a big city world.

Let’s give this ethno-biography thing a whirl.


Nana loves an Iris,

Crocuses, and roses too.

Her husband died, he wrote a book

About the mind, the soul, a new outlook.


She buried pains in me, his philosophies

secrets left inside a basement box.


Don’t leave them on that line to dry -

they were born to fly.

Small town girl

in a big city world.


Blue pills, Dixie cup kid

And at lunch every body knows

Teachers wonder if I’ll make it,

So I fake it just to please.


If you read my memory like a book,

You’ll see I shook my head inside.


I knew I wasn’t meant to line dry.

See, I was born to fly.

Small town girl

In a big city world.


Jesus is my best friend

in the middle of a weary, restless night.

Dreams have brought me such fright,

same as the edge of some great expanse- like space.


Faith in something I can’t see,

And I think the beauty is we all have one name for it or another.


Don’t hang hope up on that line to dry -

it might help you fly.

Small town girl

In a big city world.


I was drunk on Wall Street

On Valentine's and an angel helped me.

Actually, there were three and

it’s all still fuzzy, but I know they dried my tears.


All I wanted to feel was love

And like a cheesy gift from above he finally appeared.


My mother was white but in pain.

My dad believes in both country and peace.

My Nana’s an alcoholics daughter.

My grandfathers depression era babies.


My uncles- one’s dying at sixty, one’s a drop out at 50,

 one writes self help Books for Christians.

I can’t hang them up on a line to dry

They were born to fly.


My foot was infected for years and I let it.

My skin looks hardly thirty but I’ve hated it.

My body was a size 0 for years, still I doubted it.

My reliance on the approval of another’s was defiant.


And despite what looks like ease

was it’s own battle and disease,

Depression, ambivalence, and the need to please.

Please, don’t hang them on a line to dry.


You see I’m open wide

on a self healing ride.

A small town girl

making strides

to bridge the distances,

the caverns, the great divides

of this big city, small town,

and every place in between.


And I can read minds like a book

See what it took to go from “A” to “B” to three...


But I am not the lack of a brother

Or the fix to my mother

Or the joy for my father

Or the balm for my Nana

Or the savior of any other


So I’ll learn to hang those out on the line to dry

In the warmth of some greater source.


Let’s give this thing a brand new kind of twirl.

One faith to another

One hurt to another

One hope to another

One dream to another

One soul to another