Monthly Archive: August, 2011


My mother is a poem I’ll never be able to write, though everything I write is a poem to my mother. ~Sharon Doubiago Advertisements

tell me the power of words

tell me the power of words. when i read them they scatter across the page, my tired eyes trying to catch them as they leap away from me. the resonance of the poem… Continue reading

be the surf

we only text now because there is distance, a mutual distance that we know we need. it’s safer that way, all of us behind our respective walls. every now and then some important… Continue reading

lazy hazy daze

wall to wall carpeting invites lounging. i had forgotten this about him. legos spread underfoot, he marks his territory in this new space. i can’t blame him, and so i step gingerly. i… Continue reading

1823 miles

for three days our world fit in the cab of a truck. our happy place, we three. a truck driving momma a boy a cat during our travels i shot exclusively with my… Continue reading

light and dark

it is always this way, and so i’ve grown accustomed to it. the yin yang complimenting one another gaining balance in a wobbly world. this is light and dark. i have arrived and there’s… Continue reading

when i go

“i know i felt the ocean tickle the earth’s sandy shores but changes come and we all know that we can’t, we can’t stop them but I hold these memories and I will… Continue reading