Phyllis Cole-Dai's Blog, page 6

Mother

Note: This past Sunday, many people in the U.S. observed Mother’s Day. I wrote my mother an acrostic poem for the occasion. In an acrostic poem, certain letters in each line (typically the first letters) spell...

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And the Sky Leaned Closer

 Note: In our last edition of Staying Power, I told a story about how stars had come to be in the night sky. In response, a reader asked me how the daytime sky had come...

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Lighting The Way Home

This is my version of a story I first heard from Laura Packer. I keep retelling it in different settings, because the world keeps needing to hear it.   In the beginning, there was only light...

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Some Thoughts From The Train

Spanish-American chef José Andrés and his nonprofit World Central Kitchen have been on the ground in Ukraine and neighboring countries since war broke out on February 24. They work with partner restaurants, community kitchens, and...

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Stepping Through The Round, Open Door

Here’s a dirty little secret: Our house has a beautiful baby grand piano, and it scarcely gets played. That’s on me. I’m the lone pianist living here. Want to know why I don’t play? Read...

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Hiking Through Poetry

I've been out of studio this week. No worries, I'm fully recovered from last week's kidney stone attack (thanks for your well wishes). But with Jihong's university on spring break, we've headed for the hills—the Black Hills, that is, on the western side of South Dakota. 

The Black Hills are in the middle of a March thaw. They still have enough snow for Jihong to ski, but the season will likely end next week.

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It’s More Than Nothing

Shortly after midnight, I’m wakened by severe spasms in my belly and gnawing pain in my lower back. Almost at once I recognize the symptoms: kidney stones. I’ve experienced such an attack before. Passing big...

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The Big Stink and The Open Window

Mike the plumber was at our house last week, replacing a couple of old hot-water radiators. One morning, I asked him to pause his work and step into our main bathroom. “You smell sewer gas...

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Lemon Tree, Very Pretty

Lemon tree, very pretty, and the lemon flower is sweet But the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat …   Do you remember this folk song about disappointed love? So much hinges...

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Glimpses In The Mirror

[NOTE: As I’m still on my writing retreat, I’m reposting content that originally appeared on 2/23/21. If all goes as planned, I’ll be back with a new post next week!]   Here I am, on retreat...

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