Latest Poems

This Is Magic

I was born with the sun on my skin and the wind in my hair. Everywhere I looked, I felt the beauty of creation and the hurt we bring to it. Autumn’s tradition perplexed me as I strove to find why the trees cast off their abundant green gowns into showers of red and gold in return for winter’s careless mantle of snow on their bony frames.

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Pruning

Father! Father! What are you doing sawing the branches of our apple tree? Won’t the tree hurt with all those cuts? Won’t it look ugly?

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Evangelism

I’ve come all the way here to talk to you. I have come from birth and teething rings and standing up and falling down and stealing toys and riding bikes and building forts and telling lies and driving cars and texting friends and rebirth all the way to you in an empty McDonald’s corner booth around nine in the evening.

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Silent Aches

I have always been able to describe the ache—the ache in my shoulders from sitting too long, the ache in my eyes from crying too much, the ache in my heart from missing you, the ache in my hands from holding the cry of my knotted heart.

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