5.29.23 Stained Glass


I believe in light

in the relentless pursuit of it

knowing that I can’t get too lost

if I continue to follow the trail of gilded hope

even when it fades

But sometimes …

sometimes the fog rolls in,

a hazy day monotony of “Where am I now?” grays

They sweep in, nonchalantly dusting my glinted path in a “Nothing personal” muted power play

And suddenly,

all the wishing on second stars

on eyelashes and dandelion breezes

don’t feel strong enough, when they always were before

I don’t understand


why the things that matter most

the ethereal whims

and wishes

and prayers

aren’t more immediately powerful

when they are what I believe in most

when they are what I feel

I don’t want to be practical

or realistic

I don’t want to belong to




or become a cliche who takes care of herself first–

because I’m the only one I can depend on

Whether it is true or not

I don’t want to live the way that particular truth would demand

so instead,

I might stay a bit lost for a while

spinning like a brass compass needle uncertainly finding her way


even if the wind keeps me in a temporary state of rearranging

maybe my pieces will come back together


maybe I’m a stained glass window

bits of fragile colored pieces

just waiting to catch the light

just waiting to illuminate the bigger picture

5.22.23 It Just Was


I am tired of being tired

of rushing from one must do

to another

thereby ignoring the majestic before me

the magnetic within me

and the magical behind me

memories that are already dwindling

fading like a falling firework

glistening and glittering

a silent echo of the bright place




only a moment before

If I had watched harder, could I have made it stay?

If I held on tighter?

Could my intention have made a difference?

I am tired of being tired

and though undoing cannot always be done

maybe being

maybe staying

maybe trying to do less

will coax Father Time to sit with me awhile

for a gentle moment I allow to linger

one I don’t try to get through

but dwell in


5.7.23 Purposefully Awaiting


“To wish was to hope, and to hope was to expect” 
― Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility

I hear it again and again

don’t expect too much

don’t hope too high

you’ll only be disappointed.

Then what?

What is the alternative?

Don’t believe in possibility?

Don’t imagine things can change?

I can’t do that.

I won’t do that.

I don’t want to.

Naive as it seems, I am not naive.

I choose.

I choose to believe that things might get better.

I choose to trust that people may surprise me.

I choose maybe,

and might be,

again and again and again.

I will not apologize for my hope.

I will continue to expect good things …

better than good,

and I will work for them

because that is the world I wish for–

and so that is the world I await.

4.30.23 Teenagers


“Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.” 
― Robert A. Heinlein

Everyone says that raising teenagers is so hard.

And it is.

But for me … it isn’t the usual, dramatized litany you hear from society’s opinion of this age. Nope. For me, it is always matters of the heart. It is the things that I remember going through that I don’t want them to have to go through. Because they’re too good. They’re better than I ever was, and I want more for them. Or less. I want laughter and easy and joy!

Only joy.

I know this is ridiculous. I know that we grow through adversity, but loving someone to the very end of yourself makes it so much harder to swallow. So here are a few assurances for my darlings. Even when I can’t prepare them for it all. Avoid hurt for them. Or fix anything that isn’t mine to fix. Here are a list of my wishes … I pray they strengthen and fortify you for the teenage days ahead.

I don’t ever want you to be insecure, because you’re remarkable.

I don’t ever want you to doubt your worth, because you are more than worthy.

I don’t ever want you to worry about whether or not you are going to succeed, because you already have.

I don’t ever want you to be afraid, because you are stronger than fear.

I don’t ever want you to lose your faith, because you’re in the presence of angels.

I don’t ever want you to break your heart, because I’d feel every fracture times ten.

I don’t ever want you to despair, because light wins every time.

I don’t ever want you to not feel good enough, or smart enough, or ready, because you were born with all of these gifts.

More than anything, my precious ones …

I don’t ever want you to feel alone, because I promise … even when you feel like you are … you never, ever will be.

4.18.23 Hear My Prayer


Sometimes, I forget how to pray.

Or rather,

in the depth of the moment …

when I realize I need to the most,

I find that I don’t know how.

Though I’ve been taught,

though I thought I knew–

at one point,

the point suddenly seems lost.

And I?

I am lost in it.

Then, I wonder … are feelings enough?

Can a heart,

or a look,

or a trembling hand be translated?

I hope so–because sometimes, I have no words.

Sometimes, my thoughts don’t even make sense to me.

Sometimes, my shattered heart,

and my fractured tears,

and my shaking hands are all I have to offer.

Will you receive them anyway?

Will you hear my prayer?

3.29.23 Hers Is


Hers is a heart that is read slowly

written in calligraphy

by hand

in curated curls 

in stretched out thoughts

in letters chosen with particular intention

Hers is a mind that is beautiful 

laced with a lattice of memories

layered with wishes and whims

it is busy

and brilliant

and brave

Hers is a spirit that is golden

drenched in hope and embroidered with elements of the divine

prayers echoed



and sealed 

Hers is a life that is lovely

parceled and planned 

detailed and deliberated over

and yet

there … 

in the innermost corner

lies a spark of adventure

a dream that is barely an inkling

but present

persistent as a firefly

bright and promising more 

than even she

had planned for herself 

3.18.23 7 Letters I Can’t Send: Dear Serendipity


“Do you think the universe fights for souls to be together? 
Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences.” 
― Emery Allen

Dear Serendipity,

I asked my daughter who I should write to today, and without a moment’s hesitation, she said it should be you. You, the curious combination of meant-to-be mistakes and fortunate accidents. I have to admit that I have been an absolute enthusiast of your work for as long as I can recall believing in wishes. You are the personification of Fate dancing with Chance, only to be tapped on the shoulder so that Destiny could cut in. It is remarkably romantic to imagine this waltz of circumstances twirling in and between whim and what-if.

I wish I could ask you how much you get to decide. I wish you’d highlight the reels of relationships that have been affected by your charms. But then, I suppose that would spoil a bit of the subtle clandestinity of it all. As such, I guess you will have to keep your dream-come-true-drenched secrets. I imagine they are written in calligraphic scripts, dated with invisible ink and locked in a weighty silver box with tiny claw feet. Of course there is a key–but it will have been lost to Father Time for safe-keeping.

Regardless, I have a few things to thank you for … a few twinklings I know to be your handiwork:

  • The one and only time I saw the northern lights
  • The night I decided to go out and met the love of my life, even if I couldn’t know it at the time
  • The mistakes that gave me the courage to get stronger
  • The friendships I decided to pursue, even when life was pulling us apart
  • The moments I happen to see a tangerine harvest moon, a blue-tailed shooting star, or a dancing parade of pink clouds

You, Serendipity, are the fairy dust of life, and oh, how I enjoy your sparkle.

3.17.23 7 Letters I Can’t Send: Dear Stars


“Not just beautiful, though–the stars are like the trees in the forest, alive and breathing. And they’re watching me.”
― Haruki Murakami

Dear Stars,

I am simply writing to tell you that I love you. I love you so much, and I have for absolutely ever. From the time I was a little girl, my mom taught me that I should give compliments when I feel them. If that is true, I should have whispered this to you or sung it to the sky a million times before.

There are so many things about you that are magical and meaningful, but I think I can sum it up quite simply. You give me the space to dream, and for a dreamer like me … the kind that requires a lot of room to spread her thoughts, and wonderings, and whims, I can’t tell you how much I adore you for it.

But the thing I love most, is the way you are the guardians of wishes. Collecting them from every corner of every hemisphere until you are swollen with a million, glowing possibilities … until you are so heavy with hope that you fall, giving the assurance of dreams coming true.

Thank you stars.

For cascading silver dust.

For the language of light.

For holding the history of the world in a billion crystal particles across the floor of heaven.

Did I mention how much I love you?

3.16.23 7 Letters I Can’t Send: Dear Future Her


“My mother is the reason that I love you … She is the reason I know what love is.” 
― L. Franqui

Dear Future Her,

You know who you are, but I don’t yet … and that is both a wonderful and curious thing to me. Sometimes I wonder if he has already met you, or seen you, or dreamed you up in his mind. I like to think about things like that. I like to imagine the intersection of where his heart finds its way to you, because it comforts me to imagine that someday, he will be completely captivated by someone who just might deserve him.

I’m sure that when I know you, I will love you–because you will love him. How could I not trust your judgement? But here’s the thing I can’t deny; I’m a little bit afraid of you.

My son is–well–he is one of the most remarkable humans I have ever known. And I guess, before I know you, before he falls for you, there are a few things I’d like you to know. The most important is this: he cares about everything and everyone. Genuinely. He carries conversation. He opens doors. He holds eye contact. He shows emotion, and affection, and strength of character by admitting his weaknesses. He challenges himself. He prays. He stays. And his sister is his best friend.

I know that whoever you are, you will be strong. It will not intimidate him; he will champion this about you. I know you will be brave; he will support your choices. I know you will be intelligent, and he will be proud of your every accomplishment–whether attempted or achieved. Here’s the thing: I just ask you to do the same.

Love him back.




And remember that before you ever had the honor of holding his heart, he had long ago stolen mine.

3.15.23 7 Letters I Can’t Send: Dear Poetry


“Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.” – Carl Sandburg

Dear Poetry,

To put it quite simply. Thank you. Thank you for always giving me a place to sit with my thoughts. You never rush me, or force me to explain myself. You let me invite only the words I want to entertain, and give me just enough space to get cozy with them. You allow me reflection and pause. You not only inspire me … you give my voice a platform.

Somehow, you always find a way to turn my chaos and confusion into stanzas that make sense. You block and build, settle and swell. And even though sometimes you take the long route to take shape–you are always lovely and dressed just exactly right for whatever mental occasion I’ve invented.

With or without the accessory of punctuation, the confines and constructs of labels and rules, even there you are the elegant expression of every emotion a story would be too watered-down with words to tell. Thank you for your gravity … for grounding wild hearts and wandering minds. Thank you for giving my fleeting thoughts a place to land and my imagination the space to expand.

You are the last ringing note of the song of my spirit, and for that, I love you.