The Poetry

Black Softness After Sirens

It is time to fold up February like a weathered newspaper. Black History Month— you have been a mirror and a memorial. Tonight I bow my head, not in defeat,...

Black Softness After Sirens

It is time to fold up February like a weathered newspaper. Black History Month— you have been a mirror and a memorial. Tonight I bow my head, not in defeat,...

What Love Is

Love does not evaporate like a name scratched off a lease or an exiled photograph turned face down in a drawer. No. Love is matter. It shifts. It reforms. It...

What Love Is

Love does not evaporate like a name scratched off a lease or an exiled photograph turned face down in a drawer. No. Love is matter. It shifts. It reforms. It...

Hello March

Hello spring. Hello rain showers tapping Morse code against my windows— Wake up, girl. Hello flowers, riotous in pinks and purples, yellows loud as Sunday hats, petals spread wide like...

Hello March

Hello spring. Hello rain showers tapping Morse code against my windows— Wake up, girl. Hello flowers, riotous in pinks and purples, yellows loud as Sunday hats, petals spread wide like...

The Weight of Gentle Words

Why is it so hard for a mouth to open wide enough to let kindness out? Three small offerings sit trembling on the edge of the tongue: I’m sorry. I...

The Weight of Gentle Words

Why is it so hard for a mouth to open wide enough to let kindness out? Three small offerings sit trembling on the edge of the tongue: I’m sorry. I...

The Years the Door Closed

If I’m completely honest, I have been skeptical since 1996 and completely closed off since 2010. Two years— like quiet markers pressed into the soil of my life. Years that...

The Years the Door Closed

If I’m completely honest, I have been skeptical since 1996 and completely closed off since 2010. Two years— like quiet markers pressed into the soil of my life. Years that...

Finding Myself In A Rhythm

I’m finally finding myself in a rhythm soft enough for my spirit to breathe. A rhythm where I can exhale long and deep— not performing, not proving, not chasing approval...

Finding Myself In A Rhythm

I’m finally finding myself in a rhythm soft enough for my spirit to breathe. A rhythm where I can exhale long and deep— not performing, not proving, not chasing approval...