Reflections
Thoughts that are far too long to be considered poetry…
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“All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” – Leo Tolstoy One of my favorite lines in literature, but we are often more alike in our unhappiness than we realize. Each family’s pain manifests differently, in varying intensity, yet these truths exist in nearly every household. The saddest part…
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You walked to our lives as if you were a kind of balm designed to cure what never healed. Instead You ripped through us, almost gleeful as we bled into the open air, but healing doesn’t need to wound flesh just to prove it was broken. You damaged us just so you could pretend heal…
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Somewhere in your mind there is a house that holds lost objects. Things you couldn’t carry forward, and couldn’t quite let die. They settle here in corners, in drawers, in the spaces between floorboards waiting to be remembered. We always come across the parts of ourselves when we least expect to and while you shouldn’t…
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You only wrote to me once, like planting a message in a place you had no intention of ever returning to. The silence should have been a quiet closing of a garden gate. But my hands clear dead leaves to search for another message, thinking it might be hesitant to bloom as if you were…
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The American South has a way of speaking. Down here, the air holds onto secrets, sorrow, and the quiet weight of being human. South Louisiana has its own way of revealing what lingers. Here are some ways Louisiana hints at her secrets… Every reason has its own secrets that are slowly revealed to…
Black Ink and Parchment 