on returning home

Artboard 212






retracing your footprints in the mud
your tracks don’t quite fit in the old
your feet are bigger now
going in a different direction.

at first, you walk over your old prints
stomping all over them
imprinting new tracks over old
they’re almost gone when you realize

you can simply walk beside
like a beautiful pattern,
the sides slightly altering,
shifting at the pressure of the new prints.

this is an image,
a ceramics piece,
not a poem.

the beauty and acceptance of your
past + present juxtaposed
each one complimenting the other.

12 January 2016, journal entry (edited)



what if your home is the grey space between the underpasses and highways,
where the weeds grow and the old tires tire,
where the people pass in buses and cars on their way to attend to the-most-important-business


“Oh, I miss it.”
“What do you miss about it?”
“Everything, really…
I don’t know, maybe it’s different when it’s


I had hoped for a slow unraveling

but sometimes things and strings

get caught –

and there is no more slow,

only unraveling.

But we continue to knit and reknit,

to find the piece that fits.

Not all clothes were made for us,

these imperfect people, non-manufactured.

Sometimes a tribe will find you,

Sometimes you will have to go searching.

Sometimes, both.