Wandering through greenery
in search of a prize,
eyes peeled for signs of change—
her mind is empty as her focus hones.

what do you gain from
Aimless in the heat
surrounded by biting bugs
and blazing beats of sunshine.

What prize is there
to be found among the trees?

She doesn’t understand it
The draw of the warm air,
the smell of the water
of the river nearby,
the dulling of her vision that comes
with the brightest light of the day.

All lead to the smallest victory.
A nameless mushroom,
squat and grey,
hidden against the trunk of a
Russian Olive tree.

What is it that draws her in?

and her own fairy experience.


A breath to great trepidation,
the watch point arrived.

She took things in through the chest,
smiling among the wreckage.

My time in dwindling smoke arrived,
beginning above ruffled eyes–

Coffee and a signature made my way,
through disjointed movements, a
self-conscious glance at a human.


Hide and seek—
three kids making the most
of a new apartment,
boxes everywhere

Who could have guessed something
so soft, could turn so

Youngest child,
squeegee in hand,
jumps off a box and
onto her older brother’s head.

Blood rushes and the
game is quickly disbanded.

He was okay.
A memory was made,
one we would joke about for years,

even if tinged with fear.

We moved forward,
the fear was forgotten,
life went on.

Had I known what was to come,
I might have lived in those
proceeding moments
just a little longer.

Had I known he would be taken,
not by a squeegee,
but by cruel reality,
I would have clung to my brother


Un-named Gigan

Seated at the counter’s edge
I cannot bring my greatest lev’

rage against those who would try
to take from me my heart’s desire
and throw my rights into the fire

My pain today is well known as
the world begins to grasp the

weight of what they’ve placed upon
the women, left to sink in ponds

Seated at the counter’s edge
The image asserts itself again

My pain today is well known as
the life I pictured takes the past
and asserts the values of the ass

who falls upon his religion and
strikes us with his pious hand


What is more lonely
than a book on a shelf?

Whether read years ago and not opened since,
or purchased and forgotten,

the pages contain worlds.
But those worlds are hidden—


Days turn to weeks turn to years
as the enormity contained in just one shelf
remains untapped.

Only this building pressure can explain
the power that is released as—
the book is lifted

and turned to that first page.


I stress,
I lurch,
I yell,

and finally I’m silent.

This moment has taken advantage of me and
I have lost touch with my own voice.

A voice which preaches empathy,
a gentle touch.

This is my aspiration, yet

I am new to this world
and that vulnerability sweeps
me away.

Desperate to appear professional,
in control,
I embody those traits I despise.

It is only when I slow down
and begin to release the control I have been
grasping so tightly

that I return to myself.

A calm talk,
a release of energy,
a mountain of stress surmounted.

I feel much better.


A wine glass tucked in the corner,
a crack running down its globe,
tells the story of my realm

that translucent crack
visible to all the world
cannot be hidden
but will not be a hinderance either

the glass stands strong,
pieces separated, but still

I polish, I perfect
I work to heal the crack
that has been run through me

yes, I am cracked,
but I remain
with the people I love and
with the pieces of me

always moving forward

Reaching into June

A monochrome view lies before me
of the month I most dread

Memories attack around every corner, and
I am forced to relive those
most treacherous pains

every year.
Every June.

As I force my way forward, I
to allow room for light.

I try to remind myself that there
is joy to be found, even
alongside the sorrow.

I reach out a hand
hoping to grab hold of some
inkling of hope,

to grip one moment
who might combat the pain
which I brace myself against.


infinitely slowly

I am starting to see light

in June
the black only hovers at a charcoal grey.

*In memory of David Tipton — June 13,2020


He stands tall above the other…



A dragon tree, crowned and elegant,
loosing fronds in every direction,
three headed and authoritative.

The tinge of red among the strobe of green growth
catches my eye,
earns my admiration,
directs my contemplation.

I try to reign in that elegance, learn a lesson
from this life I oversee

I have the same power within me,
we all do,
don’t we?

But the same tree I admire,
that which I strive to emulate
is not without his own weaknesses.

A particularly bright day,
an extra day gone by without a drink of water,
a gnat come to rest in his roots,

and my beautiful tree shows his weaknesses.
A vibrant frond begins to crinkle,
maybe even fall,
and I am reminded—

We have his power,
we share his weakness,
we are all endlessly altering.

I wonder which iteration will show through tomorrow.


Awash in a sense of eerie comfort, I choose not to leave my bed
I’m warm, I’m safe, I have a window of time carved out just for me

I don’t have any responsibilities dragging me into the daylight,
not today

It’s like a safe, dark forest
trees made of blankets,
pleasant breeze born of doggie breath
from my mutt lounging nearby

I am surrounded by only what I know and love
with this moment I could do so much
but productivity isn’t my priority this time

I don’t have big plans, I don’t even have little ones
I just want to rest,
cocoon myself in the covers and refuse to arise

To look in one might think I am broken

But no,
I relish this moment of peace

Only when society reasserts itself

When I am forced to return to those institutions
which demand my time, will I
be forced to say to myself

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep…”

* Excerpt from Robert Frost, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

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