From the center of an old rotted stump, two pines were stretching their slender bodies upward. Daughters, probably, of this dying Mother...

"What is the soul?" Asks the poet. And I— What is love? All this fanciful talk of it. The fairytales— Wild romance— Promises— A lifetime....

My hair is curly now. I’ve been told it’s probably from the kids— That your hair changes nearly every 7 years. So suddenly it transformed...

She wakes moments before the baby. The night is still, Silent. She peels back the covers And begins The barefooted dance Through the...

The Mother traded her worries for wonder, Bowed out of a long enticing dance with grief That swayed to a ballad of abandonment, Wiped the...

Of course, I am standing between a piece of myself And a part of myself. Both a little wild. Both free.

If I had just a few minutes, I wouldn't spend new time reflecting on time lost, Time past. Absence. I would run to you, Hug you, Hold...

One look. Tousled bangs fall across blue eyes. An angry red brow pinches together atop the bridge of her tiny nose, forming a canopy that...

When the weather is just right, or the coffee is more bitter than sweet, or the light dances through the trees and the shadows play...

Cracking and splitting, they age but they grow, twisting their tough bodies upward like a prayer.