"Death"

 


She silently slipped into my room
            bringing night’s enveloping velvet blackness
                        in her sunken eyes and raven hair
Her hands reached out for mine
            coaxing me to dance with her
                        along that icy rim of eternity
My head felt heavy upon my pillow
            My arms and legs merged into my bed
                        immobile and leaden
Her breath poisoned the air
            seeping into my lungs with molten heat
                        chilling my blood into a sluggish, frozen river
I turned my eyes away
            staring fixedly into myself
                        Yet she was there
                        Empty and hollow
                        a void—nothing
            and I moved toward her
            even as I moved away
she whispered words I could not hear
            and yet I did her bidding
sobbing for days
            Until my eyes ached red and dry
            and my heart bled into
                        itself
            wracking my body with unreal pain
                        no one but she understood
I fought to escape
            turning to flee
                        with nowhere to go
She stood before me, beside me, behind me
                        within me
Then I heard
            faint and distant
                        a trill of laughter
                                bubbling and rippling through the starless night
            an intermingling of voices
                        high and low—calling my name
                                    giving me direction
                                                away, away
I pulled myself away from her deathly dance
            Yanked myself out of her clutching grasp
                        moved toward the golden sounds
                                    of love and light
She followed me
            she stayed with me
                        now and forever
I sense her presence
know the sound of her footfall
            instinctively sniff the air for her scent
                        careful and cautious
She still wants me
            her pull and determination both suck me into her orbit
                        and repel me with horror
            But those voices of laughter
                        with the eyes of sunlight
                                    and smiling mouths of delight
                        carry a stronger current
They always rescue me
Take me where she cannot reach me
            protect me for a little while
                         . . . love me

Copyright 1999 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Rats, a Pond, and Change”

 

            Our never ending battle against roof rats kicked up a solution that I’ve tried to avoid for several years—removing our pond that rests close enough to the house to draw in uninvited guests. When the rodents first appeared, they entered through an extremely small opening by our hot water heater. As time passed, they found other points of entry that always stayed along the back side of our house—near the kitchen and laundry, but also near the pond. At one point, the exterminator suggested that the pond enticed the rats into the area, and their break-in instincts led them into the house. We’ve tried different traps inside the house, including our own more successful live traps. The outside of our house, lined with baited traps by the pond, seemed to work, until this week when we spotted more rat sign in the laundry area.

            Today, I’ll start removing the pond. Draining it won’t take too long as we’ll the fountain pump can clear out the water quickly. Reclaiming the gravel from the interior and edges will take time, and relocating parts of the foliage to different areas of our yard may consume my mornings for a while. I like to think of myself as an ant. If I focus on one part each day, I can shift and move and change.

 

Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Letters to Use as Guides"

 

The recent deluge of Executive Orders issued from President Trump proves his lies about knowing nothing about Project 2025. You may or may not be invested in the goals and beliefs of this document, but you must know that many of the policies within it are currently guiding this Administration. This communication is to remind you of your duties to your constituents. We are only as strong as a nation for the care we give to the weakest—our children, people with a disability, and elderly. No matter what your personal gains and agenda within this current administration, you will be judged by your voters for how well you serve this community.
 
I do not believe that you want to forsake the important role of the Senate that you’ve served faithfully for so many years to participate with an administration whose purpose is to disrupt, dismantle, and destroy the government on a Federal level.
 
I ask that you work together with other Republicans and Democrats to make certain programs currently funded continue. If the school that’s behind my house, currently with 100% of the children on free breakfasts and lunches, suffers from the cruelty of the current policies being pushed into place, you will have failed your job. History has a way of revealing the cowards of each generation. Do you want to be labeled one?

 

Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Overwhelmed”

            Today’s project? I intend to clean the grout around every floor tile in our house. Why? I need to gain control over something that’s specific and concrete. I need to sit on the hard, cold surface and attack it with Bar Keeper’s Friend. I want to mercilessly scrub with my special brush until every inch looks clean and new. I require a massive project that pulls me away from the cruelty pounding upon our doors.  If I spend the day wrapped in a task that has a positive ending, my overwhelming hopelessness will stop hemorrhaging.
            At the keyboard right now, I envision my day. Pulling on old clothing, filling my bucket with nearly scorching water, sprinkling cleanser, scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing until my fingers and knees ache. My attention focused. Honed in onto something totally under my control, I have the luxury of pushing aside the horrors of another Project 2025 day until my personal coping strategies kick in.
            At this very second, uncertainty rides along with me on how I’ll survive four fucking years when one week pulls me down and under.

Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman    

“My Secret Stash”

            Occasionally, I purchase a special sweet treat to help me withstand various life trials. Last year, one mini-Milky Way sat on my desk in plain sight. Any tribulation that entered my day had to reach a “Sponge Worthy” status before I’d eat this small indulgence. I became Seinfeld’s Elaine, measuring my distress just like she did to before using her favorite birth control. My ultimate goal is to reshape the day’s strain into a manageable tidbit that saved my candy for an even worst calamity.

            My mini-treat, left uneaten, morphed over time into my way of celebrating my resilience. When our old hot water heater died an untimely death, I tacked onto a credit card unexpected debt. Problem solved enough to save the candy for another day. Massive layoffs at my husband’s company should’ve made me devour the bar plus every sugar laden item in our house. Instead, I maintained that the piece stay in place to celebrate not being unemployed. Illnesses and injuries plagued family and friends, but nothing ever comparable to Mom’s Huntington’s disease battle. The measure I used before consuming my Milky Way mini grew with each day I walked away from wolfing it down.

            At year’s end, I indulged myself with the treat.

            Starting this year, I have Milk Duds sitting on my desk. The little yellow box calls attention to itself in a way my demure Milky Way mini never did. Expecting a more turbulent year, I snuck a LifeSavers hard candy storybook in the bin below my desk and hid some Andes’ in the freezer. Yesterday’s news with withdrawing from WHO, trying to destabilize the Fourteenth Amendment, and pardoning those who brutally attacked police officers with the insurrection left me battered enough to raid one roll of my Lifesavers.

            My personal goal to have the Milk Duds sit uneaten on my desk by year’s end may be unreachable, but I’ll give it my best try.  

 

Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

              

"Snow Day"

 

            San Antonio’s inability to handle snow and ice on bridges and overpasses means a dusting of snow halts the city until temperatures tip above freezing. Yesterday the city stopped for part of the day for less than two inches of snow.  Sleet and ice factor into the decision to shut down. With camera in hand, I document this rare occurrence, capturing the stillness and beauty before it melts away.

 

Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"I Want to Give You the World"

  

 

I want to give you the world 

with its promise    

with its pleasure    

with its plenitude  

I want to give you the world     

without the doubts   

without the debt  

without the desperation    

I want to give you the world  

with its splendor  

with its sunrises 

with its surprises   

I want to give you the world    

without the worry     

without the weaknesses    

without the wantonness  

I want to give you the world   

with its hope    

with its humor     

with its happiness    

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Coping inTrumpland?"

 

         I didn’t plan this journey into Trumpland. I didn’t put this nightmare adventure park on my Bucket List of places that I must travel to before I die. Instead, the people around me abducted me. With hands cuffed, feet bound, and mouth duct taped, they forced me to join them.

         I kick and scream and struggle. I resist.

         I don’t want to be here.

        Trumpland feeds fears.

        Trumpland belittles kindness.

         Trumpland strips dignity from its citizens.

         Trumpland operates as a for profit business.

         Trumpland makes up its own rules.

         If I complain, insults thunder over me and drown out my protests.

“Libtard.”

“Stupid Snowflake.”

“Delusional.”

“Communist.”

“Socialist.”

“Mouthy Bitch.”

“Worthless Cunt.”

I respond with phone calls and emails, petitions and protest rallies.

I focus on the one thing I know best—educating those who do not understand. That means I spend hours each day reading, fact checking, and sharing.

I do this because I want to go home.

Copyright 2017 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

  

          

         

"Our Moral Obligation"

 

Write, write, write! Call attention to the FELON in the White House

         Another round of presidential misogyny left me fuming for a few days. A horde of angry responses snarled and gnashed their fangs within my mind. Yet I stayed away from keyboard. Not because I wanted to reign in my words, but because I fought for just the right order and organization to my thoughts.

         My little blog posts won’t change anything.

   The president’s deeply rooted personality disorder won’t miraculously disappear because I wish it so. There’s no magic. Not even the fervent prayers of the multitudinous faithful will rescue us from this current mess.

       Instead, we have to watch every day and wait for this man to stop skirting around social inappropriateness and actually break a law. A “biggy” that really matters. In the meantime, we summon every ounce of patience as investigations into obstruction of justice play out. Our gut tells us that this may not take that long; but whenever it happens, it may still be too late.

      And so, why do I write? Why do I pass along every article I read about this administration? What do I hope to accomplish?

         A moral obligation.

        A moral obligation to speak out every time an injustice occurs.

        A moral obligation to share facts and data that become obscured by ignorance—or even worse, a political agenda that seeks profit over prosperity.

        A moral obligation to pass along documented and referenced research about the administration’s desire for authoritarianism.

         A moral obligation to protect our right to vote.

         A moral obligation to voice dissent.

         A moral obligation to stand with our free press.

        A moral obligation to address the absurdities of this president and to yell, “THIS IS NOT NORMAL!”

        

      And that’s it. The bottom line. My moral obligation compels me to educate everyone I can with the understanding that we must stand together to fight against this abnormality.

Copyright 2017 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman