a poem for the ones who need a little push — You finally put that pile of clean laundry away. And start drinking more water. And clean the gutters. It’s the day you open the first book on your to-be-read pile and sit down and actually read it. And clean out that closet. And scrub the bathtub. And donate all the…

A poem for the hearts hurting from failed cycles — I know, I know, you were only one hundred cells, you didn’t have a heartbeat or a belly you could not wiggle your fingers or toes, and yet, I will always wonder if you’d have your daddy’s sea-glass eyes, if you’d have my black hair, if you’d like berries as much as your big brother, if you’d dance…

A poem for everyone — I want to pour water on the scorched earth, I want to spread a soothing balm on angry wounds, I want to whisper words that will feel like milk and honey and a warm hug from your mama; I want to sing songs that will make others feel a little more alive and a little…

A poem for the ones who are losing hope — as to stop believing in the magic of others. Like the teachers who see the goodness and potential in every child. The 104-year-old woman with a ten-year plan. The teenage boy who stops to give my toler a high five as we’re leaving the playground. Like the docotrs who never…

A poem for humanity —

A poem for dreamers, doers, movers and shakers — I’ve heard the term second act more than I care to count, more than I want to hear, more than I wish to listen to; Second act? What second act? I still want the big moves, the tiny wins, and the nights when I feel like I’m on top of the world, like anything is…

A poem — The alarm rings. The floor beneath your bare feet feels cold. You stumble into the bathroom. You head into the kitchen and thank God that you married a man who knows how to make an excellent cup of coffee. You take out your favorite mug and pour a healthy cup…

Part II — I start by asking my husband if he’s read the news. Do we know anyone who’s hurt? Do we know anyone whose families have been killed? Does it matter if we know anyone? Children are missing. Spouses have been killed. Mothers are wondering where their babies are while they stare…

A poem for mothers during heavy times — I’m walking along the sidewalk, pushing the stroller. Fall is in the air, and the leaves on the trees are brilliant shades of red, orange, and yellow. It feels like something from a classic nineties movie — a mother pushing a sleeping child in a stroller in perfect sweater weather…