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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…
Welcome to Black Ink and Parchment, a place where words linger like smoke and stories unfold in the quiet spaces between heartbeats. Here, you’ll find my latest reflections on love, loss, longing, and the fragile threads that bind us together.
If poetry speaks to you—the kind that aches, haunts, and stays—wander over to my poetry page for glimpses into my newest collections.
And if you’re drawn to shadows and secrets, step into my Cypress Mills novels… set in a fictional Louisiana town where the air is thick with mystery, and nothing is ever quite what it seems.
Thank you for being here.
Black Ink and Parchment 