My body is no temple. It’s not lined with pews for resting in prayer or fueled by quiet morning meditation. It’s simply overfilled with the kind of gluttony that set Jesus into a rage at the sight of His Father’s house misused for the desires of this life. I first knew my overweight body was…
Category: Poetry
Sit. Stay. Heal.
Tiny puppy whimpers remind every piece of my body how much I am not a mother. Nothing wrenches in my gut at the sound. Nothing spills out of my chest to nourish a physical hunger. Nothing about the thin sounds of a four-pawed little one learning to say her piece with the rising sun makes…
Snoozed, Rushed Morning Pages
Blue-gray morning cold painted across my backyard canvas far too soon. Sunrise hid behind thinning clouds and hurried time, and today began with a rush of broken peace, a flurry of stress released onto a blank page.
Step Lightly
Words type-written onto strings of cream white ribbon float through the dance studio of my mind, where the walls are lined with mirrors, and the floors are a light-brown faded wood stain, and the window high up on the ceiling breathes in the outside light, like sunshine through a cloud. But I am no dancer…
Almost a decade ago
Oh, I remember sending you home like package returned to sender, sent back like a gift unopened, still wrapped, unheld. How could I have known? You would’ve been nine, And you would’ve been mine, and We would’ve been fine.
Petaling Forward
Standing tall against the summer storm like I was already a full-grown sunflower, I felt the weight of the heavens fall against my unopened petals and beat down upon my closed up bouquet. And I understood that I deserved every minute of that downpour. That rain is why those petals never opened, why that me never bloomed, why…
Dog-on Joy
Life is bittersweet. Life is cute, if incomplete. Life with dogs? A treat.
Standing Still Is Still Standing.
He grows sunflowers in the summertime, because my garden is bare. I cradle my dog before her bedtime, because his seeds never bloom. We dream adventures and flying away, because our nest stays empty. My hands rest in his firm fist while we sleep, because he’s still holding hope.
Scrambled Eggs
Splat across the concrete like a raw egg dropped from a rooftop and broken open; face flat on the ground with a mound of black and brown ants covering its bare, unfeathered body; pushed out of its nest and left for dead is how I found that tiny baby bird this morning. I stopped and…
Don’t be a hero, Dad
That’s what they told my father the night they tried to reach down his throat and pull all his faith and wisdom and pride and courage right out of his chest. One care-free night after church, my party-of-five family went for dinner and strolled into an armed restaurant robbery. Funny how nightmares can stick for…
Moth-Eaten Sweater 