i loved fairies as a little girl
and still do. made myself a pair
of wings before you could
buy them at the store.
i loved unicorns and still do.
my favorite movie of all time and
maybe the first one i saw was called
the last unicorn. it's a magical story.
she goes looking for the others and
gets turned into a young woman by
mistake. given the choice in the end
to stay human or regain her true form,

8th grade may be the perfect
grade to teach, at least for me,
14 the perfect age for learning poetry.
the weightier ways of the world are
beginning to shape and lay claim,
but your lives are still bursting with
hope and brimming with possibilities.
i love the silliness of youth that
still exists within you (may you never
lose this gift). i remember when i was

some people think of
them as weeds, but
i propose to make them
HonoraryFlowers,
officially, in my world
at least. their manes
are such a delightful
shade of gold before
the turn, and then

i think of the paths
i could have taken,
the luckiness of getting
another chance at life.
not that the previous
one was bad, only one that
i'd outgrown. change
can be so exciting when
you overcome the fear

it seems early for
the world to feel this way.
snowdrops without snow.
daffodils already
well and truly broken through
the soil. the world is on
the verge, a liminal moment
suspended at nietzsche's
noontide. you'll find me on
the riverbank, still too cold
to dip my toes in the water but

we love scared 'cause how
else would you know how to
love others well? think of
how long it took us to unlearn
the lies and find out
how to love our own selves
on this journey we’re all on.
now we nurture, encourage
the good, gently pause at the
places where we still need work.
with patience and grace
recognizing the truth
we're all growing as we go
down this road, though we

i never knew i'd be so
lucky in love, having found
my person out of all those
on the earth. but to find
a family too. acceptance.
a place to belong. knowing
i'll always have someplace
to go. you are my home,

i think if we truly understood
how thoroughly, completely,
unconditionally we're loved
by God it would change the
whole world. even if we learned
nothing from the life of
Jesus of nazareth other than
to love others as ourselves
it would be enough.

i never was too
good with words. i get
tongue tied when i 'm
nervous. my clever
come backs come too late.
but flowers speak
a language
all their own i’ve
somehow become
fluent in over time.

this one almost
made me cry, writing it.
my first thought was on
how they’re used at both
funerals and to tell those
we love that we love them,
sometimes, though not always,
romantically.
as i was writing it, i
thought of an art exhibition
in which the last words of
inmates on death row about to be
executed were used.

flowers are one of those
singular things in which
we find both joy
as we celebrate and
comfort as we mourn.
i have boxes of dried ones
at home, from lovers, from
funerals, and upon
opening one the other
day i could not remember

the piece started with an idea
about who we were or might have been
or could (still) be. come as one of those
and meet me at the tree.
existential conversations, many
worlds theory and our alternate
selves. possibilities, of slipping
stream, of re arranging the pieces of
what makes us *us, as in: who we are.
at the time, i was newly ill,
decided to try the life i might
have had if i had taken
another path.

lucky charms was my favorite
cereal by far as a kid. i did love the
crunchy marsh mallows, but
more so the thought there were
MagicalThings in this world.
when i was a child, there were five
(purple horseshoes hadn’t
been invented yet). green clover, to me,
seemed the best of the bunch,
and besides, we knew just
where we'd go to hunt for them.
inspired by our balanced

we hear much about young love.
and rightly so; there is so much
to say. that initial flurry of
love notes and longings,
presenting our best selves to our
potential partners. then a dedication,
our lives, once two, now one.
perhaps, for once, feeling
whole and feeling home. over time
that closeness ebbs and flows

i knew this day would come,
when someone asks me for
a poem about something i’m
unfamiliar with. i know exactly
one taylor swift song. it goes
players gonna play..
haters gonna hate..
i just wanna shake it off.
though i've heard many
more i’m sure and would
recognize them. this poem
makes me smile because

there are times when
the work, doing what
you love will feel so
rewarding you won't want
to stop. flow begs to be
followed until it runs dry.
other times it feels born
of necessity, to be in constant
motion, because it feels
like living. the work you do to

we've been so
fortunate,
you and i,
to have found
each other,
that we get
to do this
crazy life
together.
i love to look
back at all our
adventures,
remember those

losing you has been
a struggle and a blessed
experience. it's left a
hole in my life but your
passing brought healing in
its wings, in many ways a
final gift for our family.
you may have been misunderstood
in life at times but we look
forward to the day when we will
know as we are known, our
hearts wide open to receive
the love and grace we sometimes
struggled to believe while
here on earth. and those last

it's 5 a.m. and i'm
wide awake again
my mind won't stop so i
get up and put the kettle on,
realize i've been trying to solve
the world's problems in
my sleep. and it's early
enough i have time to think more
while i drink my caffeine
in the tub, remembering how
privileged it is to have
safety, hot water, enough food
to eat. an education. we're fighting
a war of ideas. so what do i say to

it's been so long, what do i
remember? boo radley, for sure,
how the kids befriended him, or
was it the other way around?
there was a tree where they left
gifts for one another. later in
life when i would go letterboxing i
always thought of boo, but also
remember how much scout wanted to
drink coffee, it was a rite of
passage, and she wanted to be like
her older brother. also, the