A poem for parents before that first birthday — The first time you cried in the delivery room. The times we cried together. The months we spent breastfeeding. The middle of the night feedings. The way you lie your head upon my chest as you fall asleep. Your little nose. Your rosebud mouth. Your crystal blue-green eyes. The tiny…

A poem for that question — My niece is six. She asks us out of the blue: where do babies come from? Mama said it’s when a boy and a girl do a dance, but like, how does that happen? My husband pauses. My brother-in-law is driving the car. She feels the hesitation in the air…

I made you a cup of coffee. It’s still hot, and it’s on the counter. Would you like another piece of pizza? Here, you can have the last dumpling. Let’s order Chinese food. I made the bed. I did the laundry. How about we curl up on the couch with…

Chocolate. Champagne. Charcuterie and cabernet. The pepper spray on your key chain. Venmo for coffee on a tough afternoon. Texts chains that could be a novel. Words of affirmation when you doubt yourself. Pedicures. Book clubs. Yoga class. Long walks around the neighborhood where you say whatever’s on your mind…

A poem for aging — And yes, I could probably fix it with some cream. Or slather it with some oil. Or find a filler to wipe it all away — but then how would I know where to go next? Each groove reminds me of where I’ve been — every heartache, mistake, and celebration…

A poem for the fixers — I’m waiting for my latte in my local coffee shop when I hear the young girl brewing the espresso to pour in our milk say to her friend: I date people that are emotionally wrecked and unavailable cause I’m trying to fix them. I love people a little too hard…

A poem about big love — Before I met you, I was not afraid — a little wild? Yes. Sometimes cautious? Sure. On the move and the go? Absolutely. But fear was not something that entered my bloodstream. I did not worry about the other drivers on the road and if they would suddenly lose control and come crashing…

Every bite — The brie / and the gouda / and the horseradish cheddar / I’m here for the extra parmesan on my pasta / and the truffle manchego on two slices of olive loaf Italian bread / I’m here for the way you tell everyone with pride about how your wife /…

A poem — You close the door quietly, To not wake your mom, your dad, or your roommate, as the sun is starting to rise, and you are home far later than you should be. You choose your words carefully, their heart is broken, and you can see the shattered pieces strewn around…