So much has changed, and a few things have stayed the same — For the last couple of years, I have book my book group announcements here on Medium. It felt strange not to do it again this year, even though I really only write poetry here these days. It just felt like there might be someone here that would want to know…

What would a headstone say if it could mark the solemn moment of release into the ground to fulfill its purpose in laying another to rest? Would it have the honor to designate the final destination of a soul no longer within the frame that lies outstretched until the time that nature reclaims what was never…

Leave me in your dust that forms a musty cloud my hope won’t drive away as you do, I continue on because my light was ignited in a way you can’t displace the faith that shakes me makes me keep going in any direction that feels as if it is the next space where I arrive without you I take…

If I could sit with you at water’s edge there would be no cliff I wouldn’t scale to be next to the one love two of us together causing steep peeks fitting between the layers strategically hanging over, hidden in plain sight only if you know where to look because love is easy to pass by moving quickly…

Poetry Sunday — I always knew I would hurt you I could feel it in my hungry heart that yours was too full of love for me, leaking from my eyes I couldn’t believe I couldn’t be ready to accept you, to accept us in the way that you were confident and safe beyond our years everything I could have wanted and I…

I open my hand to you as a gesture because my heart is not yet ready to see the light of this place — the light in each and every face too protected to hear the silent sounds of nature here that ring through my ears clearing a desolate path, neglected as ignorance grips the suffering preventing…

Stare at me with a pregnant pause — I am mistaken for your curiosity, a Radiant Woman in blue with a twisted smile to reassure you since your discomfort is surely more distorted than my young body would heal quickly and quietly hidden beneath folds of blue fabric that now itches as if it’s not mine hanging onto me in places that…

Poetry Sunday — Ominous never moved its hand from around my temples beat with rhythmic pounding as if I would be found — hunted for my lack of devotion not a prayer uttered from burning lips would kiss the sting from my skin, deeper in the pounding of my heart matching the rhythm of the words crammed into my ears for only a short…

Poetry Sunday — I recognize the tired in your eyes the lines that wrinkle your brow before you say a word. I recognize a time before when we had no lines, with a smooth shine and furrowed brows never stuck to our faces the way they do with age and wear little sleep will erase the creases that we keep exposed…