It happens just like that Leaves lush and spilling forth covering us in spring’s abundance. Now baked golden and swirling in our breath Lapping autumn pools like a moon belly growing wide and wise in the year. It happens just like that Your small fur body, warm at home in my hand Now buried beneath…

Sitting with the dark, watching for my shadow. Old friend. Arch Nemesis. Keeper of Secrets. Divine holder of all the parts that didn’t fit and find their way, all the flickerings and warm connections that most certainly did. That move with me in the subtle motion of my hips, that shine through like gold belly…

Four little words. I never noticed it to be four until now.The number I’ve long held as fortuitous.Unsuspecting pairs woven together by chance. Once the number inscribed on my catcher’s jersey. Later something I’d count off the letters to words in pairs while walking or waiting, counting passing street signs, cracks in the sidewalk. Grouping…

I’m so grateful to be able to share that after eight months of editing and layout, my completed collection of 35 poems written over the course of the last three years are now available in Letters for Tallulah. Many poems from my former collection Soft With Me are included as well as 15 new pieces…

I recently sat down to talk life, writing, and creativity on the Johanna Patrice Hagarty Show on Biz Radio Asheville. In our half hour conversation, I share stories of growing up nestled in-between a creek and a cotton field in Eastern N.C., publishing my first book with the support of a grant from Haywood County…

A swell of velvet red rising, warming its way into every facet of you.Feet that carry, firm and unwavering.Hips that hold and twist and bend you forward and over and back.Chest cage open, resting and receptive, fallow in-between the flood of fresh oxygenated bloodLike Princess Scargo’s pond all dried up to four fish.Yet the tears…

I’m so touched to be one of 14 artists chosen to create work that honors and celebrates the ecology of the greenway and 10 years of existence maintaining its wild nature, preserving the area’s rich history, and connecting the community to the river and downtown. I’m painting soft connective words from my poetry book ‘Soft…

It’s so quiet without you here, without the gentle click of your feet. I keep waiting for you to come around the corner, smiling with those tiny lower teeth, nuzzling into my calves for a sleepy morning hug. I keep walking past the places where your bed laid, seeing the golden curl of your body…

My body was born by the Great Dismal Swamp from a fire-headed woman who hummed hymnals in the mornin like she was raising the sun. 36 years later I feel them pulsing, carrying me like her green bean casserole with that homemade gravy you return to like home after a hard day. My heart was…

If you were to ask I’d proudly tell you that I am a tender of the quiet in the morning and the gentle lifting of light through the trees. I’d tell you I’m a noticer of subtle shifts between your breath and mine…