Sunday, February 28, 2016


It peeked out from behind her ear from time to time. More often in the summer when the the wet air would encourage even the most modest or cold blooded to throw cultural expectations to the wind.

Some asked. Others stared. Few really knew or understood.

It was the best of her - lost. She had felt the pain in her soul and needed an outward sign. A physical manifestation.

It was a feather. Light and breathable with the ability to carry multitudes. Unique and scientific. Art and structure. Everything.

There were days she forgot. It has been a long time after all, but a love like that never really leaves you.

It pierces your soul with the ink of unspoken words.

Sunday, February 7, 2016

My Collection.

You come to me at the end of your journey.
Your poor, your tired, your huddled masses.

       Folded over
                         Written on
                                  Stamped in
                                           Left to rot


Today, I seize your well-loved spine and
pull you out to rest on a
hand-stained shelf.

You'll fit right in,
next to the others in this collection
of multi-colored ideas.

I promise to turn your welcoming pages.
Learn your secrets.
Smooth your wrinkles.
Hear your story.

I appreciate those that came before me,
and the bit of their story they left behind.

You come to me well traveled.
Be assured.
I'll read your verses-
                                            In time.