Every winter I seclude myself in my hobbit hole of a home. I surround myself with hot beverage, warm blankets, and fuzzy sweaters so I can pretend that the cold doesn't exist. The short days drag into never-ending weeks of self-isolation and hibernation. All the hours pass by in a gray smog of monotony, fatigue, … Continue reading Winter Melancholy
Has the night always encroached so quickly, after the leaves have turned? Has the dark always fallen so surely after the first season's snow? Have the days always been so short? Have hours always felt so long? Has winter always entered so suddenly? Where has the autumn gone?
"Sit with me" the wind howls through my window. "Come run with me" it becons in the night. "Hear me!" It screams through the branches. "Follow me" It's shadowless presence invites. "I will bring you clarity" "I will bring you truth" It's voice soothes, distrubs, and seduces as I shiver in my bed in a … Continue reading Wind at the Window
I take the half-filled journal from my bedside; The leather cover is warm in my hands. The broken spine falls open on the table, displaying parchment pages the color of sand. My quill tip pen is newly filled after several month of sparing use. It hovers over the empty pages as I await my writing … Continue reading Return to Writing
We watch the seasons change from our windows, unable to go outside in the sun. We watch the world turn from inside our front door, knowing that the Earth rotates on. From across the street a neighbor shouts their greetings. We both comment on how the weather looks today. The phone rings and it's family … Continue reading Another Shitty Poem About Quarantine
I walk down empty streets under a gray sky. A crow caws overheard- answered by it's murder's calls. The brisk east wind blasts across the lake racing toward the mountains. It pushes back my black hood, and tangles my long hair. My nose and ears redden with the cold. New buds grow on the bare … Continue reading Autumn or Spring?
RestlessI want to move-to run.I want to think-to create.I'm readyto do, to be, and to become.Instead I sit at my desk.The model of modern productivity.
*A very rough-draft of a poem* Mountains: The mountains felt like walls when I arrived in Utah ten years ago. Closing me into the small valley the stony faces confined me to a foreign land. The gray fortresses, so different from the green fields I knew, were my isolated tower. Here, hidden in the valley … Continue reading Mountains
I walked outside and everything was grey scale. Devoid of color, devoid of time the world was neither dark nor bright, but somewhere in-between. Silver sky reflected in white snow- contrasted by the charcoal shadows and black-tar roads. There was no color. There was no sound. No children laughing, talking, shouting- They are all at … Continue reading Silent Movie Morning
Brown Christmas: A Poem About Growing-up Southern It never snowed on Christmas in Houston. Growing up, the December was nippy- and browning grass was crisp with frost. Our breath rose in puffs before our faces- but snow never fell on Christmas day. I didn't mind that Christmas's weren't snowy. We had everything we … Continue reading Brown Christmas: A Poem about Growing-Up Southern