Word by word with Anne Lamott

I spent today
drifting through Annie’s world,
where family is messy and awkward
and loyal, and trees and flowers and moss
speak, and people have given up pretending that
we are all anything but crazy and beautiful,
and disasters can destroy
everything except our own great
hearts.

Anne Lamott, and– what?

All else fades besides
the glories of Anne Lamott,
including the tears I wept and the
snot I swallowed as she spoke
about that elusive thing,
being human–
but the hours cackling and
rolling tape with the coven were also
really
quite transcendent.

Our little hearts

As I snuggled her into bed,
I told her that I was
happy in my heart.
She thumped her chest.
You’re always IN
my heart, Mama.