Despite the main picture, I have not been kicking up my feet. I have been teaching English and Language Arts to grades 6-12, reviewing items on Amazon (Vine program), and freelance writing for Newspapers! So far I am published in The Copper Courier but there is more to come!

Articles and Listicles:

Recent Poetry:

Sometimes I wonder

If the birds get tired of flying

If the fish get tired of swimming

If the goats get tired of grazing

If the plants get tired of growing

Sometimes I wonder

If the rest of us get tired of “succeeding;”

Sometimes I wonder.

“Here Kitty, Kitty”
April 11, 2024
I wrote this during a creative writing exercise with one of my middle school students.

“I hate the circus!” Little brother was scream-crying but it wasn’t hard to understand why. He was 3 years old and his only time going to the circus, well, let’s just say it wasn’t ideal.

It was a little over a year ago, and I doubt he fully remembers it, although he surely recalls the way he felt. We went to the closing tour of Barnum and Bailey and it was clear that the carnies were depressed about losing their jobs. There was a lackluster quality to the already stale summer air. I honestly don’t know why Dad insisted that we go, probably some nostalgic memory for him or something or like that.

He had caught wind that it would be coming around to us in July, so instead of hosting the yearly Independence Day BBQ for the block, he used his finances to buy all 4 of us tickets (I guess technically 3 tickets since babies got in for free). Mom begrudgingly prepped car snacks for us; she wanted to support Dad, but no one wanted to be in a tent in the July humidity.

When we got there, the crowd was full of families like ours: there was always one or two excited people and a bunch of people who looked like they didn’t want to be there. No wonder it was a dying industry.

“The lion tamer!! OOH! That’ll be fun.” Next thing we knew, Dad was at the window, getting us tickets for the show.

We sat down, about 4 rows up on the bleachers. We wanted to sit higher to see it all, but Mom’s arms were getting tired from the baby and she refused to push him in a cart in such a large crowd.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to our show! We ask that you remain calm for the duration of the show, as lions can smell your fear.” This little pudgy guy in stripes announced this, as though we needed more reason to be tense. Next thing ya know, there was a cage with a lion rising from a trap door. It was weird because the floor looked like it was made of dirt, yet there was a basement for a lion to ascend from.

RAWR it shouted. RAWR. It showed its fangs. Don’t worry little guy, you won’t have to do this act too much longer. I thought this hard, hoping that it would hear me somehow. If the circus was shutting down, the lion wouldn’t have to fight anymore, right?

Out walked this poised man, wearing a sparkly red fitted one piece suit, with a thin mustache and slicked back dark brown hair. He looked gangly, like if this wasn’t choreography, he wouldn’t be able to fight a dangerous creature to save his life. Unfortunately for us, I was right about that.

He was carrying a whip and a chair, took a bow to arouse applause, and reached for the door on the cage. You could tell that he expected to open the door and the lion to take a step out. He held up his chair as though to guide the lion one way or another. Only, something went horribly horribly wrong. The lion did not take a gingerly step out, it leaped, and leaped high! Pushing the “tamer” down and scratching his face. I heard that he actually lost sight in his left eye. He yelled loudly, and fiercely, dropping the whip to grab his face which was bleeding profusely, the chair shattered in pieces atop of him. The lion then RAWRed like you would expect it to on the African Savannah or something and began walking over with its kitty-cat authority walk right. Towards. Us. There were a few rows of people in front of us, although two of them had puked over the sight of blood, the younger ones were crying, and the parents were panicked, looking around for the nearest exit. It was too late.

The lion pounced on one person, standing over him, growling. At this point, my brother was wailing, my Dad and I were frozen solid, and my Mom, however she does it, still looked composed and unimpressed. Despite her display of disdain for my Dad’s idea, she always had a way to remain calm during the wildest of times. It’s probably why she was so good at being a Mom.

“Shoo! Shoo! HISSSS.” My mom was actually trying to boss the lion around, who had still done nothing but stand menacingly over the person in front of us.

RAWR! Its roar echoed and vibrated my brain.

“RAWR! Right back at you! Good kitty kitty, good kitty kitty.” My mom at this point was scratching behind the lion’s ears with one hand, while holding brother with her other, squeezing him close to her chest. The lion was…purring? It was bobbing It’s head into her hand like a real house cat. “There’s a good kitty kitty, you just had an itch, didn’t you?” Apparently, my mom was a real lion tamer.

You could feel the audience lighten up, hear the breathing, despite the actor still bleeding and shrieking in the middle of the tent.

“You just wanted a little loving, didn’t you?” Just as my Mom said this, a man with an axe walked up behind the lion and slashed it’s head clean off. “WAAAAAHHHHH” my brother began scream crying, much like he is now, as the blood splatter hit all of our faces.

“We can’t exactly let a vicious creature on the attack live, can we?” My mom was frozen, mouth ajar, blood speckled all over her face like paint splatter. This would become a source of trauma for her, causing her to keep all of our cats as indoor-only from here on out. My Dad snapped out of it, reached over and put his arm around my Mom, who began to cry viciously. I held my brother and stared at the decapitated head until the firemen and EMTs came in, loaded the injured man onto a gurney and escorted the audience out from the gruesome scene. We were silent the whole ride home. Silent, except for my dad, who was casually snacking on peanuts.

“Yeah Dad, I have circuses, too. Didn’t you learn your lesson last time?”

“Guys, this is Cirque Du Soleil. It’s not even a real circus.”

“Riiiight.” I said as Mom went silent, reliving her trauma. “Look at mom, Dad. Do we really have to go?”

“It’s just gymnastics.”

“It’s fine. It’s fine. But you’re comforting Jack this time.” My Mom walked over to the pantry and began loading snacks. I won’t get into telling you about how this time involved us watching an acrobat dislocate his shoulder unintentionally.

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