The Laceration

The ache is not a discomfort.

It’s anguish.

A laceration,

Piercing into the core

Of what I believed to be true.

I mourn who we were

Before the distortion 

Led us to who we have become.

Going To The Moon

I am so honored to be a part of The Lunar Codex. The Lunar Codex is an archive of contemporary art, books, music, poetry and film, launched via NASA’s Artemis partners to the moon.

One word comes to mind gratitude, gratitude, gratitude.

I Am Water

 

 

 

 

 
I am fluid
as the river
flowing through a canyon.
I am not stagnant water
standing
still in a bucket.
I am rippling,
rolling,
unbroken.
I am free.

The Sun

 

The darkest hours

will unravel the light.

Waiting,

questioning 

the conundrum.

Disentanglement 

will be late coming.

In Mariupol, the smoke

is rising.

The land is ravaged.

In the steel factory

the girl has sheltered

52 days

underground.

All she wants is to

see the sun.

The Rubble

 

The Rubble

The rubble stained.

The rubble cloaks shame.

Innocence taken.

Innocence lost and forgotten,

as if it never existed.

Once, there were children playing,

their laughter echoing through these streets.

Their faces beamed with joy as they ran free,

playing hopscotch and hide-and-go-seek.

Once, fathers and mothers tucked their children into bed.

Teeth brushed,

bruises tended to,

bedtime stories told, as

the moon and stuffed animals listened.

Once, there were lunches made,

homework examined,

board games played,

holidays celebrated,

music played.

Once, there were grandparents conversing,

tending to the children,

bridging the present to the past.

The sun rose.

The sun set.

Life was lived.

Love was shared.

Underneath the rubble,

bodies are buried.

Hope ravaged.

Laughter silenced.

Life ended.

The promise of tomorrow stolen.

 

Praying for the people of Ukraine