My Hagia Sophia

The golden-blonde head bent at my elbow had curls coated in pink, strawberry yogurt. Sophia sucked her strands as she lifted her eyes to mine, “I love you, Mommy.” The tiny daisies danced on her ruffled dress as her legs kicked, below the table, still too small to touch the floor.

“I love you too, Peanut.”


Affection, rather than Perfection, in writing (and in life), is more interesting. Enjoy writing, write what you enjoy! Anne Lowenkopf –


The dirt started at the boot line where a specially dark splotch of probable chocolate mixed with a fine stinky cream bordeaux cheese rubbed into her shins. She was a long, messy girl, taking after her mother. Confident and quick with her emotions, her words were often unknowingly wise. Red wine and champagne stains all over me and the table, napkins, rings blurring the smudges of last nights food.


Hagia Sophia Del Fiore

Our Muze Giris Bileti in one hand, hers in my other, we walk together across the nave, my daughter, my dream. My heart pounding at the thought of touches shared with you this morning, looking forward to dinner tonight and the stained glass of ancient knowledge above. My love Constantinople is Istanbul today, Turkey. Giving thanks for finding your flowers when I did on my gray birthday. I missed you. It looked like you sitting slumped, early in the cafe hours, engrossed in communications, probably a writer, it was not. Of dark Greek features young with strength I could know, he looked twice. So did I noticing his thoughtful eyes and ring around his left hand finger, my childrens’ words inside my head. Will you marry someone else, Mommy, he asked. I don’t know, sweetie, thats not what I am thinking about. I just love you and everything will be alright for all of us. Just you, talking and touching me, when will it be? My blood is running thin and pressure mounting, from below the iron-chain you come.


to: Marcia

thankyou for all the bread anb for all the Love. you are nise like a Butterfly flyi-

ng in the sky. from:Sophia

Imagine this on pink construction paper with three kittycat heads balanced perfectly below the thank you, and spaced evenly between the and for all. The page torn in half evenly just like the loaf of bread was cut at Marcia’s instruct; one half in the fridge, never freeze it suffocates the flavor. The bottom half read:


you are prity like flower a blooming anb your bread is grate like a purpel dandeelion your bread is good whith tam But Better whith yur our Love

And below that is her quick self portrait. I told her to just write, don’t worry about spelling, you can take things out later, but never throw away. She still asked me how to spell lion, my girl through and true.


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