Her words weave
a prayer rug
of brilliant jeweled tones
for us infidels
to kneel upon and offer
our awe
at their majesty
her thoughts
a honeyed sweet additive
for the tea of
our bitter
that I were the fly
on her apple
waiting patiently
for her carving
while her fingers
jot down
the juiciness
of morning glories

Once in a great while someone's words just strike us, reach all those unreachable places, and leave you full after reading. In my lifetime those writers have been Anna Akhmatova, Zora Neal Hurston, Alice Walker, Anais Nin, Marina Tsvetaeva, Ranier Rilke and Ti Klinger. I call her this century's Dorothy Parker.
Wit, depth, tears, giggles - she encompasses all of it, perfectly. Ti, quit being so stingy - share your words with the world. They need to hear them!



I am certain, were it not for Divineness, our paths would have never crossed. She hails from a blue blooded Yankee family, and I the Southern carpenter's daughter from a Tobacco Road Mama. She grew up the diplomat's daughter in Turkey. I grew up in a government house in the rural South... But what fulfillment our crossing paths have brought us.

I introduced her to cheap coffee, Bailey White, and remind her that one can hold nothing in their hands and still find exquisiteness in the hay bales against the blue sky, walks to the dollar store, and Merle Haggard on the patio. She taught me the proper pronunciation of "brie'", brought me scarves from Italy, believed my red cardinal story, let me weep in her vineyard, and yelled at me about the sparkling beauty within me.

Anais Nin said "Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting, that a new world is born.". How true this is, and how surreal this world that we have created between us. And most amazingly, she always wears the perfect shade of a satin.


he had assured her
that the cure
was between the braids
of her long golden hair
if only he could
convince her
that he