A quiet collection of reflections on healing, becoming, and return
The Poetry
Visions of Aging
I look forward to aging, not with fear, but with reverence— like a Black woman greeting dawn with her head held high and her spirit already awake. Let my gray...
Visions of Aging
I look forward to aging, not with fear, but with reverence— like a Black woman greeting dawn with her head held high and her spirit already awake. Let my gray...
Winter Weather Advisory
It is early Sunday morning, and the snow has decided to speak first. It falls soft, like a hush laid gently over the road outside. No tires. No sirens. Just...
Winter Weather Advisory
It is early Sunday morning, and the snow has decided to speak first. It falls soft, like a hush laid gently over the road outside. No tires. No sirens. Just...
Why Her?
I spent countless hours— zombie days, sleepless nights— trying to understand why my mother had to get cancer and die. Why her? What was the lesson I was supposed to...
Why Her?
I spent countless hours— zombie days, sleepless nights— trying to understand why my mother had to get cancer and die. Why her? What was the lesson I was supposed to...
Even the Birds Know
I understand, in a way my bones remember, why birds loosen their grip on bare branches and follow the sun south. Migration is not escape. It is obedience to wisdom...
Even the Birds Know
I understand, in a way my bones remember, why birds loosen their grip on bare branches and follow the sun south. Migration is not escape. It is obedience to wisdom...
Eight Count
When the world gets too loud I turn into myself— not away, but inward, where my name still knows me. I let out a scream that never learned how to...
Eight Count
When the world gets too loud I turn into myself— not away, but inward, where my name still knows me. I let out a scream that never learned how to...
February Blues
February comes with two hands. One holding candles. The other holding grief. Birthdays fill the calendar. But so do the tears that sneak in sideways— the kind that look like...
February Blues
February comes with two hands. One holding candles. The other holding grief. Birthdays fill the calendar. But so do the tears that sneak in sideways— the kind that look like...