Good. Bad. An exploration of terms and their repercussions.

Dear, dear, dearly disheveled home,

We are gathered here today to make confession for…you. For the state of you. This is of course my doing, my doing by undoing. Shall we acquaint ourselves with the term ‘neglected’?

Well (let us be precise): I, the mother, am gathered here. (You are just here. You are always here, you unmoving hulk. Please always be here.) Even alone, I am gathered. I have found the bits of myself and collected them for a moment of apology.

I am sorry that my experience within you is often one of stumbling.


I am enjoying your chaos. Somehow the kitsch and clutter have transformed themselves into cherished muddle. Our hodgepodge. This is the poetry that I, the fallow-brained, now write, this collaborative jumble. Here are the artifacts of my existence. Here are yours, Husband, Oddnivore, Newcomer. Our objects converge, blend, bind together in displacement.

Bind together with displacement. Under displacement. In, with, and under. Now I am explaining real presence as I learned it in facts in catechism, in theories in college.

Somehow we go backward while we go forward.

In the end, we lavish words to explain the mystery. We nestle, ultimately, in paradox.


Bad Mother.

What once seemed straightforward now resists pinning.

Still, I grip the tack while I am set spinning.