writing
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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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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…
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One moment you believe your garden is flourishing, then a gardener walks away, and you are left with silence and an emptiness you never thought possible, but here’s what is extraordinary about abandoned gardens. They grow what they want. It doesn’t matter that this red rose appeared in the middle of a daisy patch or…
Black Ink and Parchment 