I let my shoes spill off the frame of my feet and withbaby steps, took to the green carpet. Within two stridesa wasp caught herself

In Spanish, “to birth” is translated as “dar a luz.” How poetic—to give someone light, a slice of sun as they exit mother’s earth. At

Pensively promenaded I, as impetuous as a poet, To accumulate few jocund inkling on dusk. For sure, not as a bard, But as a novice

Your tiny church in the woodsis a wilting shelter for a sodden creed only you would believe a prayer could keep the riversfrom swelling big

Power crackles through my tangles. My hairbrush falls into three pieces when I run it through my hair since my new grays are actually spears.

She wants to be Cruella, disintegrating into a glamorous obsession, lost  but only slightly crazed. She hasn’t been abandoned in the woods and these aren’t

A 21-Step Guide to Self-Love  you broke my heart so you should give me yours           -Naomi Sharon  filter the petrichor

Salt Kingdom, After the Fever Morning fractures across the flats: amber poured into every hollow. Reeds stand blackened and fragile, their husks whispering to wind.

Prairie Psalm with Train in the Distance Dusk lowers its copper basin over the blackland fields. Mesquite breath rises: green, resinous; and somewhere rain is

patienting it will never be an obsolete gerund/ living/ this whatever it is/ this breathing of a run-on sentence far more than just labeling/ far