Entries by Roxanne Claire

Orange Sweater

In an episode of Big Bang entitled “Itchy Brain Simulation,” Leonard thinks Sheldon is overreacting over an unreturned DVD.  Sheldon feels Leonard doesn’t understand that, for him, unresolved issues are “like an itch in my brain that I can’t scratch.” So Sheldon asks Leonard to wear an itchy sweater until the overdue DVD is taken […]


On my walk this morning, I came across a weeping cedar tree, the tips of its branches at eye level. From every frond there hung a drop of rainwater. Backlit by the rising sun, the branches were aglitter like a jeweler’s showcase. As I stepped closer to observe how tightly each droplet clung to the […]

Spilled Tears

I’ve been collecting my tears. Tiny bottles with stoppers are next to my bed, on my kitchen counter, in my car’s gear well, and at my art studio. Their contents are somewhat misleading because the stoppers are not airtight, allowing tears to evaporate, leaving an amber residue. But, clearly, I’ve cried most often in bed […]

I Usually Drink My Tea Black

One reliable measure of my day is how much sugar I put in my tea. This morning I filled half my dessert spoon from last night. (That I nibbled on something sweet before bed tells you something about my state of mind then.) Funny, I would have thought I needed more.

That Which I Refuse in Myself

That which I refuse in myself, says Jung, will appear in my life as an event. The day started off well. I felt good, strong, confident. As the hours passed, a weight in my stomach slowly grew and I felt myself sicken. I became distracted. Unable to focus, I wandered the house. Made cup of […]


One of my friends in mourning posted on Facebook yesterday, abiding love for the departed in every word. Half way through, I burst into tears and began to keen, the sound guttural and unrecognizable as my own. This morning I went to the bookshelf, looking for a poem I once read to the one who […]

We Don’t Shoot Our Wounded

Anger molten as the Earth’s core and just as deep. Cooled by a remark made by a woman I had just met. Betrayed too she was angry enough she said “to want to smack them.” But sighing she said “We don’t shoot our wounded.” And just like that I was reminded of the unacknowledged agony […]