caples 2

hotel hangs

lake tahoe


lake 1



sunset jesus

sunset jesus..


jack and i got the rare chance to spend a couple nights away this weekend. i found a great deal on a hotel in south lake tahoe. cute little place with great access to plenty of things to see and do. we walked everywhere, ate lots of good food, and slept in two whole days in a row. some of my favorite nights with my husband are the really simple ones. it’s never really dinner reservations or tucked in shirts with us anyhow, but i like that i’m just as happy bundled up on a bench, people watching and sharing a beer out of a paper bag. i like that we can tangle ourselves in bed sheets talking and laughing, never once bothering to turn on the t.v. we drove up highway 88 on saturday afternoon, taking turns picking albums. we stopped to see a couple lakes and breathe in the mountains along the way. on the way back this afternoon we took the long way and caught the sunset on some of our favorite back roads. they sure are different, but it was peaceful end to a much needed breather.


i weigh myself

i weigh myself,

i don’t need you to weigh me.

how many pounds for a heart

or all the love i’ve made?

bent pages of a magazine

the endless sea of white teeth and perfect thighs

in more than one square box


i weigh myself,

i don’t need you to weigh me.

how much for my wit,

or the nights i’ve stayed up laughing?

for every comment by every person

who chose to measure my worth by the thickness of my waist

and then tell me about it.

i weigh myself,

i don’t need you to weigh me.

how many pounds for the way i dance when i cook,

or my husband’s hand in its favorite place on my hip?

every rotten thing i’ve said to myself in the mirror

and then believed,

i weigh myself.

i don’t need you to weigh me.

can you measure the way i listen to a friend

or make my mother proud?

conceal, shape, pluck, shave, spritz,

contour, smooth, reshape, retouch,


i weigh myself,

i don’t need you to weigh me.

how much for my words?



thanks for this one, pops…


After the Disaster

Katie Peterson

A picnic in the sequoias, light
filtered into planes, and the canopy
cut through. Fire raged in that place
one month ago. Since I’d been there,
I’d have to see it burning.
Nature of events to brush
against us like the leaves
of aspens brush against each
other in a grove full of them
carved with the initials
of people from the small weird town
hikers only like for gas. Messages
get past borders—water
across the cut stem of the sent
sunflower alive with good
intentions. People who mistake
clarity for certainty haven’t learned
that listening isn’t taking
a transcript, it’s not speech
the voice longs for, it’s something
deeper inside the throat.
Now, from the beginning, recite
the alphabet of everything
you should have wanted, silverware,
a husband, a house to live in
like a castle, but I wanted
fame among the brave
A winter night in desert light:
trucks carving out air-corridors
of headlight on the interstate
at intervals only a vigil
could keep. Constellations
so clean you can see
the possibilities denied.
Talking about philosophy
might never be dinner
but can return
your body to a state
of wonder before sleep.
The night reduced us
to our elements.
I wanted water, and whatever
found itself unborn
in me to stay alive.