If God exists she is old pine and just enough. She is bare-toed and sure-footed on the path her ancestors walked for her. If God exists she is wild honey dripping from a honeysuckle vine. She don’t need to be told what she already knows about the land holding her. If God exists she is…

We watched on as the December sun sank behind the trees Lowering its warm body into the ground. Showing us its fearless transformation, its graceful descent. Down, down, down  A sea of orange filled the sky behind the stand of pines. Fading to a purple wave that swallowed up all the colors, Commanding our rest….

My poem ‘It Happens Just Like That’ was published in the 2023 County Lines Literary Journal by the Franklin County Arts Council in the piedmont of North Carolina near my hometown. This poem is a dear one to my heart as it was written in the fall as the silver maples were putting on quite…

I am infinite. My light body held in its fiery hydrogen mass. Here in the weightless womb of oxygenated dusk. Breathing me forward and backward, present in time. I am at ease. Effortlessly arriving with each inhale as I gather and glide the particled golden mass of me. And with each exhale, returning inward to…

There once was a young acrobat by the name of Francis who helped place the stars in the sky each evening at dusk. Francis was a thin whip of a young man at six foot two with long, limber arms and legs. His face was warm and inviting with eyes that lit as he effortlessly…

I woke to a powerful white moon-glow reaching its long November arms through my bedroom window and far across my bed into the kitchen. Lifting my eyes to the windowsill, I stared out into the field beside my cabin into the fuzzy twilight and strangely found no glowing orb in sight. I shifted my legs…

When I was a girl growing up on the coast of North Carolina, I carried around a small Lisa Frank journal with two kittens in a pink converse shoe on the cover. I would sit by the creek that ran in front of our rural family home, boxed in by the railroad tracks and a…

If I somehow forget who I am in some sort of tragic remembering accident, sit me outside on a cool October morning to remember me back. Let the wet of the browned and yellowed leaves fall at my feet and re-mother me into time once more. Place offerings of honey water and heart-shaped wild potato…

I am creating more space for myself to just be, I shared with her when asked my intention for this moment, this season ahead.I want to soften into more space, become space. I repeated the words on the screen in my mind as I hit send, half checking-in to ensure this was in fact something…