Girl Crush

Do you believe in love at first sight?
Some may dismiss it,
But I’ve fallen 
for so many women that way.

Been swept off my feet 
by deep feeling females
each brilliant 
in her own light. 

Lyndsay who gifted the
courage for poems,
Lauren was definitely love at first sight,
Lacey, my very first friend
at the red table closest the door. 

Amy, so wild, so creative,
Andrea who prays and reads 
like she means it,
Katy, who laughs when
kids pee on her floor.

Haley and Emma and Alisha and Layne 
on-call regardless of gravity or pain.
An actual secret sisterhood 
I can’t mention by name cause
they’d literally kill me-
funding my funeral 
with their own pocket change. 

Internet friends, 
Fran, Anna, and Sharon,
go-getting and knitting 
yarn and backyards,
memes and machines,
nothing and everything in between. 

There are countless comrades 
I can’t even name.
More yet I don’t know, 
haven’t met, but will soon
each face familiar
on the broken-heart news. 

And they’re all so consistent.
Lifting up, cheering on,
lingering wings waiting, 
breath bated, hearts beating,
saddled up, ride at dawn, ready to roll,
to kick ass and cherish,
to cheer and console. 

Ride or dies knotted together,
a bracelet woven from
threads of time, 
common ground,
common love, 
common purpose,
each one attached
to the girl come before her,
pulling behind her 
the girl further down.

So forgive me for falling so deep 
and so quickly. 
Forgive me for not mentioning 
each one by name. 

You see, they are 
Impossible to not fall for, 
to not love each the same.

3/8/22 – International Women’s Day

For the Dining Room Light

I have not yet met
all of the birds here,
nor been introduced
to the squirrels.

The trees are lovely
but we haven't progressed
much past small talk.

I wonder how long
it will take
to stop feeling
like a foreigner.

There's the promise
of many social engagements
come spring:
      the hydrangea and that
      mysterious plant out front.

But for now
I am the new girl at school,
waiting to be asked 
        -finally asked-
to sit at their lunch table,

Waiting in the meantime
for them to sit up
and take notice of me.

At least I have
        the light,
steady companion from birth,
the kind of kindred
beloved at first meeting,
        like Lauren from the library

eternally validating, 
each morning it pours
reassuring warmth into my soul

and gosh, it is so good.


At Quittie Creek

the most incredible thing
happened to me.

I don't know why
it landed in my lap.

I fear telling you,
speaking it out, 
may weaken it.

I saw a woman
pure and holy,

motionless as I was,
both of us transfixed
by a crisp flock
of crimson cardinals,
the most I have ever seen
in one spot.

For five minutes 
I watched them
before even noticing

A mystic
right under my very nose
so still,
on the opposite creek bank
that I'm still not convinced
          she was real.

To share knowledge of her
is to profane some holy mystery.

And yet
I am compelled to tell you
she exists

Crosslegged in the snow
under a grove of bamboo,
a basket in one hand,
the other upturned.

The cardinals
swoop closer and closer

I saw one
          almost brave enough
          to land.


The Girl on the Plane

Recommended eating at Fuddruckers.
This was after she told me about

The decision to put her grandma
Into a nursing home.

There had been a "loud discussion"
Regarding medication.

Comments made about
Negligent use of prescription drugs.

Grandma, herself, shuffled
To the airplane lavatory.

"I hope she falls in the toilet."

My nausea set in
As we bounced over

River, junk yard,
Past, future.

She filmed the take off
To show her mother

But not the landing.

Hello! (And an update)

Gosh and golly gee, it has been an absolute minute since I’ve written much on this old blawg. We’ve moved from our beloved Cleveland to the Hershey, PA area and so many things are in flux.

When I flew to Harrisburg in November to look at houses, I randomly picked up a book of Mary Oliver’s poems at the airport. I couldn’t stop myself after that, poems just poured out of me. I’ve shared quite a few on Instagram, but I’ve got a few more in my pocket that I’m planning to share in this space.

The Debbie Downer part of my brain says that no one reads blogs anymore and even fewer people are interested. Probably true. However, I’m learning that much of the writing process is less about engaging an audience and more about getting pen to paper. The writing process is cathartic and valuable even if no one reads it but me. Getting it all organized and typed in one spot (rather than scrawled all over the world and in my phone Notes) will give me an opportunity to practice editing.

So, all that to say, welcome to my new project. If you’re subscribed to new posts via email, you may get quite a few blasted at you at once…apologies in advance, haha! If you’re not subscribed via email and you’d like to follow along, be my guest!

My plan is to organize poems by months written, which will serve as a journal of our first year in our new home, this kooky little house on a hill. Thanks for joining along and for growing with me.

As always, you are tremendously loved!