Learning (Page 3)

An empty, snow-covered, arctic winter landscape; a snowy desert field with a person walking away toward a blue sky at the horizon.

Dry (a poem)

It’s winter again, it’s snowing outside, and my soul is as dry as my hands. A frozen wasteland, no less of a desert. My heart is parched like the sands.

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Close-up of a weathered and cracked, white statue of an angel leaning on a table, head down, hands clasped, fingers interlocked, praying. Located in an Uruguayan cemetery.

Scars (a poem)

It’s been years since the cut
and I still feel the pain.

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Black, plastic letters spelling out "ASK MY PRONOUNS" on a reusable, wood-framed square sign, nestled on a wrinkled rainbow PRIDE flag.

They/Them (article)

I hope you will join me in this act of solidarity as I stand up for those who are being forced to assimilate with a societal construct that does not fit them or reflect their lived experience.

(377 words)

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Close-up of a lioness, open-mouthed, roaring, teeth bared in the light rain.

On Days Like Today (thoughts)

They have seen it all and stood strong despite the pushback. They have the scars to show for it, but they also have resilience.

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A plain gold wedding Ring sits upright between two curved pages in an open Bible. Back lighting creates a shadow in the shape of a heart, which extends into the crease.

I feel you (a poem)

The tilt of your head, the lilt in your voice, the look in your eyes, I don’t have a choice. The words that you say, the ones that you don’t, the volumes unspoken, it’s clear that you won’t.

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A young girl, wearing jeans, a red shirt, tall boots, a winter hat with a pom-pom, and a black backpack, walks along a grass-covered ridge near a river at sunset.

Some thoughts while sick at home.

Some of my ancestors crossed an ocean to live in a land they had never seen. Some lived out their entire lives in one place, never venturing outside of their village, never seeing an ocean.

[continue]
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A golden background highlights a dandelion field at sunset. In the foreground, a dandelion releases its seeds to float on the wind. Two immature dandelion buds are unfocused but visible behind it.

Words Escape Me (a poem)

What if words were free to fly, untamed by the pages that held them? What if they had a life of their own and were allowed free expression without constraint, without intentionality?

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