
What I love about poetry is how it allows us to view our lives through a different prism: one that breaks apart the pieces of our experience into rainbow colors and then focuses them with clarity that can be blinding in its insight.
When I became a parent, it was natural — even necessary — to examine my new adventures (and misadventures) through the lens of poetry.
Did we dream you into existence,
or was it more mundane?
When you open yourself up to writing poetry, you open yourself to exploring and memorializing what was meaningful to you, even the hard moments.
Feeling you leave in a gush of pain and red,
in the blackest and loneliest part of the night …
Why were we led all that way, and never to see your face?
