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Take a bit with you crisp fall afternoons we collected leaves circling the reservoir your boots, smaller than my hand Carry it with you that we screamed train at the sight of engine lights your finger pointing in circles against the car window Bring it with you early spring mornings throwing rocks in the harbor your sneaker tracks endless on sand Carry it with you even if they weren’t your first memories know they were mine

This year has been an adventure with unearthing writing from decades ago. I was so thrilled that this little story was picked up by The Palisades Review. It’s a story about the start of a relationship and fitting for the start of my journey back into writing. You can read it here. It’s paired with beautiful photography by Lucy Jackson

I opened the door no, I slammed the door open in my signature style forged a conversation out of a happy birthday text Maybe it was you who started with your heart's secrets spilled into a text bubble I've always been immune to you so, I wrote back as if it was a grocery order a very detailed one Because I remember your weakness for me but mostly your inability to do the right thing for 25-year-old me who was busy loving an ex while on vacation with you We slipped past our

Since I started this journey a few months back, I have submitted work from time to time. Happy to have the piece bebê included in the The Book of Extraordinary Dreams published by Poet’s Choice. I woke up earlier this year with a dream still lingering and wrote it all down. Here is a snippet. The full-length version can be enjoyed in the book. I dreamt of an older version of you I awkwardly visited a dinner party in your cavernous apartment stars sparkled through large wind

This year, I began compiling decades of writing in Scrivener. So far, so good. It’s been a dream to put my twenties to rest in a poetry book and I am taking it one word at a time. Is it normal that as I am editing my work down, I find so much, fluff? Maybe it’s age but it took twenty words then what I can say in now in eight. It’s been cathartic and a bit wistful to read such deep, reflective thoughts from years ago. I was innocently sad when my heart broke (repeatedly), bu