(Mama) will you wash my face

Now when she sees I seek alone
She comes to me, she asks

The Conductor

If you
crouched down
and focused your view,
pieces of me
were visible in
the distance.
Firmly clutched yet
completely invisible
to the carrier.

Things I know . . .

. . . that my body has finally found a voice equal to my mind, and my heart is but their mediator.

Grief Love

As if picking up grief – in this case – was also picking up the mirror I kept trying to wipe clear, and turning it around . . . Pulling my shoulders back like a mother would tell a child that grew before the other kids, and boldly holding up my mirror like I could Say Anything.

A Penny for …

My dents
are not hidden.