you don’t really know

how much you’ve changed

until you go back to a place

you once called home


it’s a privilege these days

to meet someone new and old in person

to have the time to really get to know them


spontaneous conversation.

when did connection become about a literal spark?

missing you

(though I don’t think we’ve met yet)

and that good ol’ fashioned lightning.

instructions: hand-wash

The washing machine did not come into

work this week

We thought it’d be an unraveling,

an undone

bundle on our shoulders


it was a seam in solidarity

with women of past and present

a string pulling us back in time and across the globe –

however small of a tug a week of experience can muster

slipping out of mind

and into hands for


water &

escaping pockets of air in

the wringing of crisscrossed fibers,

We thought only machine could do

this. Did we forget about before

machine? When we were merely

human at the stream.

The strength of our hands, women we are

crisscrossed souls

in the fabric of existence.

A cord of three is stronger than one.

An interweaving of queen, infinite is

the strength spooled through

generation and place knit into a powerful

shawl for all occasions.


I imagine us standing over one another like transparencies, silhouettes projected onto the same spot, separated by t.i.m.e. The ocean below, the same though slowly disappearing. Wind blowing in our hair. Both gone in an instant when the light turns on.

I walk along the stone paths and wonder if we’ve ever stepped on the same cracks. If I ever retraced your steps. If you ever plotted mine.

Did we glance upon the same tree, the thousand year sunlight poking its translucent finger-rays through different kaleidoscope leaves? I looked through my eyes, but felt as if I could have been seeing through yours.

my new place, your old. growing ever further apart in time, yet ever closer in s.o.u.l.

living with the same people in different pockets of time.

same and different. we are.



the truth is. i’ve forgotten about you.

a figment of the past. of childhood.

have I outgrown your memories like I’ve outgrown my shoes?

have I traded you for something new?

in memory, I cannot find you.



i took the time to remember you today. to remember what i could. it felt important to record in case i lose more of it as time goes on.

all the words i remember you saying…none of them really warm. but all the things i remember you doing, filled with a fire called love. and i cried because i saw a part of m.y.s.e.l.f.

Bread Crumbs

There’s an uneasiness that comes with being human and being conscious. Teetering on the edge of hopelessly infinite and just hopeless.

Every moment is a morsel unfolding onto another. Bread crumb after bread crumb left by Hansel and Gretel – only to be eaten by the monsters of time, mutely jeering on the sidelines. Out of sight. Out of mind. Until you can’t find your way home. Knocked out. Awakened by the acid that eats away at your flesh, the walls of your surroundings slimy like a human balloon, contracting in and out. Bits of yourself floating on the wet graveyard of past wanderers.

Caught in the stomach of a witch.

Your options: If you’re still alive, you can chew your way out.