WORDS

Selected poems / 2010-2021.

UNTITLED #11

This season is punctuated
by an ending, bust mostly
surprising beginnings: 

The tender art of
mothering myself. 

“sea and sea,
moon and seagrass”

Reclaiming the territory 
of my whole body. 

A single blank page. 

Realizing the gravity of 
a smile on my own face. 
Your face. 

Sometimes missing the sound of rain. 

A PORTRAIT

Our house is built
of pure light 
and it is a choice.
Each day we create a life. 
We throw our bodies

into this holy sea, 
into the wind,
into each other.

Sometimes I forget
that you are not me
and so I am here
to tell you that beneath
the earth of my body

there is dark, 
there is wet,
there is wanting.

You feel the texture of my breath,
though you cannot touch it.
Though your lungs are my own.