How long have you been waiting to tell your story? Not a week (rarely a day) goes by when I don’t hear from someone out there in this wild world of ours, someone just like you. Someone with a regular, ordinary, mundane life. Someone with joy and bliss and heartache …
This is a poem for the women violated, and for those who stand in support and love and solidarity. For partners, for lovers, for friends. For all those women harmed, and for all those who held and loved them in the aftermath. Maybe not perfectly, maybe not with unfailing grace, …
I woke up this morning Slowly Reluctantly And this familiar heaviness settled into my being The weight of all things For which I hold responsibility And even those for which I am not Responsible But insist on claiming as weight As mine to carry Out of some Misplaced sense Of …
Today, when I went to my car To go meet my good friend for coffee And to visit another friend And her baby Who we hadn’t seen in quite a while I looked down to see a feather resting on the handle of the door A little feather Tiny, really. …
This is a love letter for the writers… Hey you. You who writes. You who keeps on writing. You who pours out your hurt and your joy and your bliss and your ways of being and existing and understanding onto page and screen. You who hits the submit button again …
This is my first morning without the kids this week, and predictably, I woke from my internal 6am alarm clock. But today I allowed myself the sweet grace of a little more sleep, still smiling the smile I went to bed with last night after a much needed evening with …
I set the alarm last night thinking I probably wouldn’t to it. Up too late writing wild. Too tired. I don’t usually follow through. The alarm was a half-assed thought, really. Another way, maybe, to feel badly about myself for not doing what I say I will do. But when …
My entire last decade hinged on the power of one question alone. The answer, when I lived into it, dismantled all I had known and transported me into a life that looked nothing like the one I expected to be living. No doubt, questions can hold a tremendous sort of …
Last night The earth started shaking Where she lives Though it was steady here literally If not metaphorically Or steady enough At least That I didn’t feel movement In the ground Beneath my own feet Thought it must have moved I think At least the smallest imperceptible amount. Because if …
This was the week of the whole and the holy. The week of wine in mason jars and the tears that hit so hard I became salt water for a while and as the night grew deeper I pulled a chair into the kitchen to reach high on tip toes …
