I can feel the tears And this time I’m trying really hard to stay near You But I can feel the water behind my eyes Sometimes making it hard for me to see You. I can feel the waves of doubt Hitting me like bullets in a windstorm And I’m squinting my eyes Trying […]
Part 1: Metaphor to My Simile I sat on the floor pen and paper in hand contemplating what I would try to get you all to understand, yet I’m not sure any man or woman could stand in my place and say it with elegance and grace what need to be articulated to my […]
“Discovering vocation does not mean scrambling toward some prize just beyond my reach but accepting the treasure of true self I already possess.” ~Parker Palmer I was three months into my new stay-at-home-mom life. I had spent years holding onto a lawyer job that didn’t fit. I held onto it much longer than I probably […]
Advent is a season of waiting: for calendar chocolates, promised presents, Santa’s steps. Advent is a season of longing: for life, and light, and hope beyond this world. In Advent, we think we are the ones who are waiting. But I think of the annunciation, in Leonardo Da Vinci’s Italian colours: […]
I came across a journal the other day with one of the only poems I’ve written in more than a decade. My college years were spent between literary criticism, philosophy papers, and procrastinating by writing poetry. But after life got increasingly full and more complicated, I let verse fall to the wayside. That fullness quite […]
I watched his hands, a gentle blend of weary Each line, earned, every callous worn like a medal of honor The request, brave and earnest His response breathed through his fingertips, whispers waft and billow Through the labor of his hands His yes, a gift of patient, steady love I look away, the chore […]
I never thought I’d still be breathing at 45, painted skulls on tiny coffins to distract my broken mind. But now I’ve tasted worth and felt confidence creeping up my spine. I know you had a lot of problems, always told me you were trying. And I have felt deep purple blood flow from […]
An excerpt from the poem “Wedged.” Can I still be my new self here, freshly fired girl of clay, or will their haunted silence crack me, rip my stitches into fray. You will experience more of this powerful poem of parental estrangement and escaping the cycle by Caity-Shea in February. Subscribe to get new posts by email.