My mind met me

in a quiet moment.

I felt along the

patterned cotton ropes

letting me stay awhile,

swaying in nature's breath.

A hushed sound~ unarranged,

yet weaving through the leaves

with such purpose,

I try and place its melody.

The clouds sit

as I trace lines of inked pages;

words, dancing in the sunlit breeze.

What had I just paused to ponder? A fleeting similitude to jot down.

Yes. The revelation of brotherhood.

Within the creaking bark

the swaying trees above,

recognizes each leaf

turned by my hand

from the book on my lap.

Time draws in,

a soft narrowing,

moments collect like dew.

The echoes fade;

any chaos of thought

gives way to clarity.

Mindful murmurs,

inviting presence,

a richness of now unfurls.

Focusing in becomes a lens,

sifting through the noise,

there's an essence revealed

in the stillness ~

in this sacred breath.

Within each fleeting second,

a world unfolds,

inviting us to linger ~

a glimpse of eternity.

Under misty skies,

Lochs reflect the heather's

of the highlands bloom.

Murmurs of the wind,

Cairgorms castles rise,

Guardians of myths and legends;

Stone and story blend.

Isle of Skye' rugged breath,

their Village cradling mountainside.

Sunlit scales in fishermen nets,

Harbourside, echoing

Scots Gaelic in joyful bursts

Warmed souls of whiskey sing

"Donald, where's your trousers?"

Serve Scotch Pie filled with mutton,

as savory pudding is placed.

There, bagpipes fill the air,

An instrument once claimed,

now speaks to my spirit,

Still resonating it’s history.

In drones and chanter ~

Roots that run deep in soil.

A stroll through green fields,

Wild mountain thyme,

Elderberry hedgerows,

Where sheep graze in lazy time,

Alder, Oak and Willow swing,

Nature's gentle hymn ....

A fogbow diffracts over the hills,

Coastal winds give whispers,

Ferries glide past rugged shores,

Seals bask in the sun’s glory.

Tartan threads and clans,

A tapestry of the past,

Pride woven with love.

In every heartbeat,

Scotland’s spirit finds its way,

into an Americans heart.

Prologue: **A Soft~Headed Start **

My tale begins in Brooklyn, New York ~ where the sounds of sirens and street vendors serenade you into existence surrounded by the vibrant cadence of the Italian immigrant experience. I made my entrance ~ an unwieldy arrival ~ creaky and abruptly thrust into the world a month ahead of schedule, on a sultry summer day bursting with the crackle of fireworks celebrating our nation’s independence. I sprang through a c-sectioned womb, a little later then intended, due to the doctors Fourth of July party. Arriving into my parents arms and residing temporarily at Long Island College Hospital, I spent my first month in the ICU ~ a little bundle of joy while my parents serenaded me with songs by Stevie Wonder, "isn't she lovely", while the doctors puzzled over my peculiar creaks. I was basically the star of my very own hospital musical and circus. As I grew stronger, they learned the creaks were the sound of mutated collagen; what they didn't know was that my tiny infant brain was having its first signs of neural programing, connecting synapses to worry, and wondering, “was I opening for a drama or a comedy?

As my childhood developed, there were many questionable moments, some trauma, and a bit of medical mystery . You see, I was blessed with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, which is fancy talk for having a genetic connective tissue disorder but also a walking medical conundrum. There was a lot of dislocations, issues with blood vessels and other organs, subluxations and other things that ended in passing out (which was described later as POTS). I was hyper flexible but also lively, cute as a button and ready to experience it all.

** The Family**

My parents were the ultimate 70s couple, a classic film waiting to happen. They grew up two blocks away from each other in Downtown Brooklyn. Their love was the kind you see in rom-coms, early preteen connection ~ a secretive pinch on the cheek, a stolen kiss on a stoop~ yet blissfully oblivious to the more challenging aspects of adult life; because although, my mom was a natural beauty ~ think Kardashian without the makeup~ or even the Kardashians, for that matter. She was asthmatic, brittle diabetic, and allergic to pretty much everything with a scent, which made her an unintentional minimalist and also adorably cute to my Dad. I worried that my mom might not always be around to tell me she loved me and that fear follows me to this day. This fear didn't just come from that adorable overthinking infant brain like I mentioned before, there was many stories told over the years, that my body absorbed like pain out of empathy. You see, I have a special gift of empathizing ~ to it's extent, and my Mother had a special gift of telling stories that didn't leave out any parts of her suffering. Like the time she was struck by a car on Fourth Place, the camaraderie of my Grandpa Angelo's longshoreman friends rushing to donate blood in her hour of need. Or the Christmas Eve she spent in the hospital, confined due to the nicotine haze swirling around her uncles and aunts in her family home, a fate that saw her released only to be readmitted the very next day. The doctor, while puffing a cigarette, could only ponder, “What could it be?”

Through my parents love, their families intermingled like the perfect Sunday sauce, with siblings on both sides sharing sacred Holy Communion at Sacred Heart and Saint Stephens, and fathers and uncles working together on the docks. Fruit stands and hot dog vendors transformed their earnings into Brownstones and local Candy Stores with their profits to support their growing families and friendships spanning generations. In this tightly woven tapestry of connection, the lines between distant cousins and close relatives blurred ~ everyone was simply “Cuz.” With twenty-one cousins on my mother’s side and ten on my father’s, let’s just say the family gatherings felt like an Episode of "The Bear" on Hulu, but one that I secretly relished. It felt as if our family extended into infinity, an ever-growing circle of laughter and love.

Even as we moved upstate, those Brooklyn roots remained unshakeable. Every weekend was an expedition back to the land of giant pasta bowls and backlot gardens thanks to Grandma Teresa; a generation who inherited green thumbs from the northern hills of Italy, that tended to vegetables and basil that grew expansive~ like Grandma Lucia's hair-sprayed beehive did after a visit to Simone's Beauty shop. The one with the slot machine in the back, where I once won fifty bucks as a 6 years old, then paraded around the street with a couple of old ladies, showing me off. The spirited conversations, accompanied by homemade wine echoed for miles and kept smiles on our faces, all the way back in the car up north at the end of the weekend.

I remember being called the "Hicks" of the family when we first moved up. My parents delighted in recounting the story of my nascent days, recalling my childish exclamation when seeing our property, “Where’s the sidewalks? And the neighba’s?”But soon, our new home became the haven for all the delightful chaos of our Italian clan. The stories, the jokes, and the endless celebrations held at our home; where two acres of land met a brook that danced its way to a beavered dam, feeding a lake. Childhood was a glorious adventure. I was Huckleberry Finn, leading my high heeled and coloned up cousins on escapades, catching fish, and embracing the thrill of life outdoors. It was an existence steeped in familial affection, where every laugh and tear was a thread in our shared fabric.

**Growing up **

Growing up upstate, but tethered to the city on weekends still , I was your classic ADHD overthinker, a newbie to the dirt road friendships, and a beauty oblivious to my own charm. I donned my eccentricities as badges of honor. As my Brooklyn accent faded into the mountains I became engaged more in riding my bike with a wild sense of joy, collecting rocks, cray fish in the brook, scrapes and bruises like prizes, and always ready to show my dislocating shoulder rotation trick to anyone who was interested.

School, however, presented a mixed bag. Middle school unfolded within the lens of 1980s nostalgia ~ shoulder pads, Trapper Keepers, and music that became my lifeline. I was into not putting labels onto people and allowing everyone to claim their own individuality; something that wasn't gifted back at times. A true thorn in my side that would stay throughout my life.

With my background, it was only natural that I found camaraderie among friends from similar Italian legacies. I felt an instinctual bond with those whose parents shared that same fervor. Often walking into their homes, tearing a piece of bread and dipping it into their fragrant sauce, only to face that muted air of immigrant caution or a smack to the back of the head. But once they recognized my roots, they welcomed me into their hearts, like a prized meatball nestled in their Sunday feast.

High school morphed into a different landscape altogether. Labeled a Brooklyn stereotype gone awry, I found myself a fish out of water in a sea of tranquil streets. Amid the laughter and typical teenage drama, bullying seeped into my experience; stealing my diaries filled with poetic secrets (seriously, who does that?). The older girls tagged me as a "specific" kind of outsider ~ the one where they would vow to make my life a living hell. The truth? I was the sweetest pretty girl you could meet; understanding, real, a bit hyper~ but fun, quick-witted, silly; helpful and accepting. Yet, you couldn't ask about me, to them, I was the enemy. I was also too aware of how boys liked me, but didn’t know how to translate that into self-love. I wanted to avoid labels~ they felt so constricting~ but society loves a good box set.

Instead of pursuing my passions for plays and music, I felt compelled to follow the divot's and synced in with the wrong crowd, the ones who drank too much and didn’t care about the futures we were squandering. When it ended with my high school boyfriend~ the popular kid I latched onto like a life raft~ I felt my heart shatter. Where was my teen love story like my parents had? I knew nothing else but their undying affections for one another. I flirted with despair and contemplated jumping in front of the first car I saw just to escape that mind-numbing agony of my first breakup. Classic teen drama, right?

So, as any self-respecting teen would do, I decided to rebel! College years began~ I started with one foot in learning and another in the chaotic waters of youthful exploration. A Communications Degree was in my interests, but that year, spring break beckoned~ and I went. My Italian friends weren't allowed to go that summer, as their parents were understandably cautious. Meanwhile, my own parents were preoccupied with work, with my mom juggling to pursue her degree in Speech Therapy ~ a true Brooklynite Speech Pathologist ~ go figure. And my German friend said she'd drive. I met a guy that first night at the beach bar from New Jersey. At the time, I could only wonder what drew him to me, but in retrospect, I’m convinced it was the eccentric allure of my leopard print on leopard print, an unapologetic fashion statement. He was eager to introduce me to his friends on his boat the following day, and as a playful warning, I shared the long list of uncles I had, one of whom was a detective~ just to let him know they already had a solid grasp of his whereabouts if the need arose. He fell in love instantly, and though a hot commodity down south (you should've seen the Southern hospitality from the ladies) he needed to make me his. We began a romance flying back and forth from nine states, enjoying the freedom and excitement. There were moments when I should have been buried in books, preparing for finals, yet instead I found myself surprised with a first-class ticket to Vegas. A wardrobe awaited me~ luxuries I had never known or understood what to do with. Weekend getaways morphed into lengthy trips, and before I realized it, he had shifted and turned into a controlling specter of what I thought was my beautiful whirlwind adventure. His family had struck gold, thanks to um .... the lottery, and they already had a family carwash business, with many connections. Talk about a movie plot! The illusion of a dream: a beach house, a new life. But it was like wearing a beautiful dress that was two sizes too small—the seams barely holding. I knew it then but I didn't stop it; we married and I started my life down South.

The cracks in my fairy tale began to reveal themselves. I grappled with an overwhelming sense of insecurity, slowly contorting into a version of myself that was unrecognizable. Confidence was elusive, instinct faltered, and the reins of control over my life slipped further from my grasp~ a lesson I would carry into my later years. I had lost myself adapting to someone else.

Do you know, when you stop hearing your own voice; it’s akin to your subconscious crying out in despair, as if your very essence is staging a rebellion. Perhaps it was the resounding echoes of my Italian ancestors insisting I wake up and smell the espresso brewing. Yeah, that was me. It wasn't a good time in my life.

**Breaking Free**

Things spiraled as paranoia crept in. When you're hiding a part of yourself, it feels like uncharted water and there's a lot of mistrust. Mistrust of yourself, of others and how you believe they perceive you. I slowly pulled away from what was never mine and singled myself out of every gathering and event, until I started to seem like the problem ~ but I wasn't. There were controlling, manipulative words that ensnared me, prompting me to curl inward. Instead of flourishing in my twenties, I faltered, trapped within a facade of opulence that was merely a cavernous hole I couldn't see the bottom of. I eventually gathered the courage to leave~ if you could call it that. I left everything behind and didn't tell anyone what I was doing until I had already left. It was that sort of situation ~ I'll spare you the dramatics.

Moving back in with my parents was a massive reset button. Imagine the awkwardness of explaining your entire life-defying choice to people back in your hometown and especially, to your bustling Italian family, who had never heard of a "divorcee"~ they even had me ask the priest for an annulment! While standing in the living room surrounded by family photos, I knew it was time to put my big girl pants on, something shifted within me. I began writing my feelings down in poetry, started to pick up a guitar, taking lessons a step further so I could be the rock star my heart was calling me out to be; I nurtured nascent dreams, and started claiming my life back.

I enjoyed parties, secured new and old friendships, took up photography and kept climbing metaphorical mountains of self-discovery and real ones too! For a solid five to six years I was on a self-care journey of learning, growing and living. I found some purpose in going back to school for a Psych. and Philosophy Degree but soon, I realized, as I took my studies more seriously, that I had some learning disabilities that I was ready to treat responsibly and effectively. I took the time to be diagnosed, received some much needed help for focus and became a member of the PSI Chi Honor Society in Psychology to graduate . I began teaching Mindfulness & Yoga to children after getting certified, and learned to listen to that voice in my head that was actually mine this time.

.... Until, life threw a wild curveball my way in my 30s.

Cue the scene: at a party ~ not just any party~ but a Murder Mystery, where deciphering the plot involved deciphering clues and unraveling the murderer’s identity (I was in my glory). There, in a cowboy getup, I run into the guy I despised in High School. Smart, an Aries, liked to label people~ my fav. I recalled a time when we both worked as lifeguards at the school pool when my beloved grandmother faced cancer. I had to juggle babysitting my cousins while asking the head swim coach to shuffle the lifeguard schedule, and this guy had the audacity to call me a “little princess,” thinking my looks granted me special privileges and questioning who I thought I was. That stuck with me~ how wrong he was ~ how much I hated when people tried to label others, and because, I was trying to be there for family ~ my family. I was driven angrily by respect and love. His comment burnt a hole through me, and the fire that night at the party glowed with a comeback fueled since High School. I let him have it at that Murder Mystery. It sure felt good to let him know how I really felt about him. Little did I know, our drunken fight would lead to an unexpected rendezvous in the woods. If that doesn’t scream “destined to happen,” I don’t know what does. We became inseparable; our dynamic was electric—filled with misunderstandings, but always riveting.

** The Twists of Fate **

Fast forward, and I’m feeling nauseous. Here we were, six months in, pregnant and expecting. Just so you know: Sinus medication and Birth Control = Baby. Turns out, my wild high school rival was also grappling with demons of his own~ alcohol struggles, mood dips, and a whirlwind of complicated chaos, and here I was, trying to know and be everything for him. Cue the realization that I keep losing myself.

After years of futilely trying to mold into someone else, I chose light over confines, packing up my messy life and leaving when our child was only four. I emerged from the fog~ catching my breath, realizing how my choices echoed into my child’s world. This isn't to blame anyone else but my own fearful self, who instead of creating my own path I yearned to trod upon, kept veering off path to follow someone else's. Relationships can do that to some of us .... not all of us are as lucky as the ones that get love right the first time.

** Epilogue: A Mother’s Journey **

Now, many moons later, as I learn to embrace self-care and actualization, and a whole lot of arthritis, I promise my child I’ll guide her through the chaos of life~ to empower her to recognize the voice inside, even when love comes her way. I’m doing my best to clear past trauma while weaving a beautiful tapestry of lessons, resilience, and love.

My life isn’t a perfectly polished story, but filled with jagged edges, comic moments, and absurd revelations. All those intricacies create the beautiful mess that is me.

So join me on this journey, where the sidewalks blend into the streets, the towns merge, and the clouds moved in colors beyond the imagination as I navigate the wackiness of adulthood with an adventurous spirit that stemmed from a two block span in downtown Brooklyn and a really creaky cry into the world.

I listen to the radio,

Soundgarden sings, My Wave

I always thought they were cool.

Social whispers years later said

they were a horrible band,

Doubt creeped in my mind then.

Do I like them still, now?

Did I buy that CD once?

I don't remember buying it,

I remember just having it one day,

and listening to it, thinking

how cool I was ....

found it at the wash.

now I remember.

Whose case was it then?

A friend, boyfriend—

who was there?

Left behind by the customer;

Detail, VIP.

An unknown echo,

a story lost in transit,

did I steal that sound?

Thief of memories,

they saw my tangled past,

living life askew.

Just a child trapped

not knowing her identity.

Then, a wife in shadows,

rich man’s chains, money unspent;

did I need it then?

Awkwardness abounds ....

how to keep my heart so safe?

Searching for the light.

Am I happy now?

Did I choose to feel so free?

Clouds drift overhead.

The town fades, anew,

each moment a shifting reel,

life plays out again.

Rub my face, my eyes,

here I go, a mood shift stirs;

the journey goes on. But ..,,

those memories always fuck me up.

Keep it off my wave

- Jessi

My hunger grows

for the farmer’s bread.

I dreamt last night the scent

still lingered at the ford,

off the river ~ in the air,

blown by old stone,

rising out into the wide countryside.

Further I reached towards lost cities,

abided, yet hidden in structure.

I envisaged saluting monuments,

though I sensed

their essence remained.

The smell of dust

settles in my slumber,

the grime of war rinses

but few when it rains.

And I am old, used to decay;

the scent clings to my nostrils.

I am as old as the hills

they rose from. Plainly,

I can still taste the sediment

of my country’s crust,

a calcareous soil,

too dried up to bear its own fruits.

The trails, along the coastline

have been brined and aged

for some time. Soaked

in that erosion,

I became aware of waves

mislaying their energy,

changing winds

leaving behind only caves,

upon notches,

upon cliffs.

Exposed stone shapes,

jagged and sharp

along the water's edge,

have long been rinsed clean

of the screeches

from sea-clawing gulls,

harrowed in their contention

for the last meal.

My impetus draws

distant memories,

reminiscing of shorelines

so striking—

a presence so youthful.

So let me die here.

Let me rest forever

in this slumber,

as I remember and lay

on hills of another’s land.

Let me rest my eyes on sights

that could have been mine.

Feed me your bread

from the farmer’s field.

Cover me

in your coat of arms,

protect me amongst the

luscious fir trees;

before the charge of my

castle walls, before it all comes

crashing down when I wake.

~ Jessi

Golden rays cascade,

rivers hum a lively tune—

summer's trail unfolds.

Amidst bloom's embrace,

a child's grace shines so brightly—

nature's art, entwined.

Whispers through the pines,

ancient tales of yesteryears—

time drifts like the breeze.

Stars awaken skies,

diamonds in a velvet sea—

night's hush gently falls.

Dreams waltz with moonlight,

serenading hearts to rest—

dawn awaits her cue.

Whispers weave

through winds unseen.

A nobleman's staff,

guiding desert paths

through barren dreams.

Wrapped in cloth,

listening close~

a sound no throat

could ever groan.

From sacred flame,

embers stay unconsumed;

from earth's stone ~

All Commanding;

testaments as old

as morning dew.

There, an ancient light

casting shadows within.

In the presence

of a secret Grace~ only

a man's genuine soul

may follow,

receiving an

all consuming embrace.

Years, like rivers run,

beneath the beating desert sun.

A guide unseen, yet,

forever near ~

known in silent depths; a

solitude that brings no fear.

"Face to face, as a man

speaketh unto his friend',

through sands and stone ~

desert mountains to ascend.

Where twilight fades,

man knows no rest; a

dimming dawn of hope,

night invades

an endless quest.

His people's dream,

a constant test ~

forty years of tracing steps.

Yet, an unwavering heart

in loyalty bound, the only

friend of the Divine ~

an eternal life found.

Listened to the whispers,

and guided dessert paths,

up mountains tops

with visions

of the promise land.

To see~ and yet,

never to step upon;

a vision given,

but never to guide on.

A summit to gaze

the path,

leading his people home ~

a call, The Promise~

and the first signs of dawn.

Laid to rest, eternal,

in scripture, written one.

Moses, the deliverer,

entombed by

the hands of God.

Brought commandments

in stone, through deserts

stormed and with him,

his Mighty Staff laid too ~

plagues, snakes,

and parting seas,

.... its miracles still shown.

Letters forming words

pierce the air, directly

in the path of the heart.

Pain builds up

in tears and lumps in throats;

they cannot speak emotions

coming to mind.

So much understanding,

met with adolescent knowingness; representing a say~all "truth ",

there is no point of challenging.

Giving up isn't a choice.

So, giving in will have to do,

while the eyes glaze over and stare

at the sad reality of loneliness,

and motherhood, creeping in.

I'm alone as a mother,

alone in the love I have for you.

Misunderstood,

misrepresented

missed marks ~

motherhood ....

quickly deteriorates

after 11, 12 years;

turning into empty backseats ~

badly ripped, cushions torn.

Edges and corners left,

of only hardened leather.

Unlaced stitching, poking ~

scratching sweaty thighs

in the summers heat.

Uncomfortable,

unpleasant retracts,

of an unwieldy teenager ~

ungainly silent.

Once at an arms reach,

now destitute of holding hands.

No more fond glances

from the rearview,

where you once sat ~

beeping seatbelts signal,

like sing-alongs

in long ago car rides

of vehicles long gone.

Baseless insults,

like garbage in wind gusts,

thrown about.

Belligerent sentences,

like a drunkard,

stoned in the night,

whizzing streams of

balky comments, pressed

and bleeding ink ~

leaving streaks.

Kneading barren wombs,

brushing away any

motherly remains;

a life-force connection ~

a cord cut and discarded.

....

I miss that little voice,

calling for me, "momma",

"just one more kiss goodnight".