Previously Published in Converse University's Concept 2024
I am a piece of a broken thing
Of what was and what could have been
And now never will.
I am the piece of the pottery that survived the fall,
My sharp edges cut into the soft flesh of those who would try and pick me up,
Streams of red roses growing from their hands
But hands still reach for me never the less.
And little bit,
By bit
One of the edges is smoothed over
To provide a handhold.
Now the hands can grasp me as a weapon or a tool
But prefer to simply admire the design of my ceramic
Incomplete as it may be
Perhaps I would look good in a mosaic.
Previously Published in Converse University's Concept 2025
I am a swan grown silent at the death of its mate.
I am an orca carrying her baby’s body on her back for miles,
Grey clouds threatening rain that never comes.
I am marble polished to a mirror,
And pristine white lilies in bougets.
I am a weeping willow tree swaying above a stream
In which beavers have made a home.
I am dirt tossed across a casket.
I am boxes of items still left to sort.
Previously Published in Converse University's Concept 2025
Fallen leaves bury the skeletons in the backyard
Mouse bones and something larger.
Cold chill in the air rakes through my bones
As the sky turns dark,
Trees on fire and birds fleeing
Southbound to distant shores.
The smell of pumpkin hiding the scent of decay.
The bones won’t be found till spring
When the snow melts and the flowers shoot up
From skulls in the earth.