The night-soil swallowed me up Land, the dirt above my fingers I grasp Knows all the stories of my years You stood above mourning those times Even that time I spilled the tea When those moments have lost You look one last time, and leave…

Mother Earth (hour 14, prompt 14)

Mother Earth is watching Every move you ever make Every thought you ever have And each dream you forsake She knows the things you’ve sacrificed She knows each time you’ve shattered Each time you’ve been made to feel Like you never really mattered Mother Earth,…

The Way Home

“The land knows you even when you are lost.” ~ Robin Wall Kimmerer Rising with the sun, I give hommage to this day. With the grass full of dew, I relish in the cool comfort as I garden, working the soil and working my soul…

Hour Fourteen

  The skies in a monochromatic grey, Birds gaze into eternity.   Source: An erasure cut out from the Traveller Magazine Series.


“I am home!” I want to scream, Though I am voiceless. Silenced by the pounding of my heart Which deafens me. Wide-eyed, terrified My heart and my mind keep secrets Preventing my body from moving. ”I am home.” I whimper. To my mind’s ear. No…

Hour 14

I’ve been peculating the parts of you     every evening and storing them   in my soul’s jar   everytime I peek into the jar   The parts of you— diffuse into the gloomy air

As Evening Falls

Children laugh and play Each donning a brightly colored raincoat Steam rising from cement As they stomp and splash In puddles left over From the warm summer rain They ask for jars To collect fireflies as evening falls

#14 Tomato Talk

  Tomatoes in jars with elbow pasta, basil, and nuts chopped up in omelets and chili and gazpacho, drizzled with olive oil and liberally salted. Children pick them from the vines in the evening and juice runs down their dirty chins.  

Guilty As Charged

Alighting the stairwell She looked at me And in all seriousness, asked ‘Were you the one who drank all the coffee?’