Ashes of love
I own precious few family heirlooms. One I treasure is a worn black leather-bound pocket-sized ledger filled with poems. It first belonged to my great-aunt Nan,…
I own precious few family heirlooms. One I treasure is a worn black leather-bound pocket-sized ledger filled with poems. It first belonged to my great-aunt Nan,…
This is not a cowbell. It is a story wrapped in a linen shirt and carried from the old world into the new. It is origin.…
BURNING CONTRACTS after Naomi Shihab Nye Promises consume themselves in a quick hot flash. Contracts imposed when I didn’t understand I could say no. Artless paper…
I didn’t know, when I went to Ireland, that my primary reason for going was to visit John O’Donohue’s grave. Who could know such a thing?…
If healing means to make whole, as Michael Meade claims, then what part of me is missing? I have a hole in my chest a mile…
I was several years into my 40s before I could forgive my mother for being herself. Seeing her so vulnerable now, it feels terrible to admit…
You know those days when everywhere you turn the same idea confronts you, breathes itself into your ear, blares out from the television set, slides into…
Last night I attended a memorial for one of our community’s beloved elders. Nancy Sterritt was my sister’s auntie, and she died in her 97th year,…
I haven’t posted for a while, but seeing as it’s national poetry month, here’s a poem I wrote entirely from spam comments left on my blog.…
My first experiment with writing erasure poetry happened last October at the NorthWords altered pages workshop I wrote about here. Jess from Terrace Public Library handed…