• death,  Featured,  Love,  Poems

    Winter’s Song

    Winter comes in quiet, stage left, light focused elsewhere, and waits. She knows her line is coming, her nerves tumble around inside her She is a subtle addition to a lovely scene of oranges and browns and dark green As the players fall back after Autumn’s brilliant number, she moves on shaky feet When she steps into the spotlight everyone gasps – she is stunning Her homemade gown flings sequins in an orb around her as she finds her mark Standing now on solid feet, knees bent so she won’t faint, she listens for her cue Which is up to her: a break in silence whenever she senses we are…

  • creativity

    Here's To You, Maya Angelou

    Today I can’t help but weep for such a powerful, dignified, honest voice gone from this world. But I haven’t read any more of Maya Angelou than your average 20-something has done. What I have read I’ve loved, but I can’t say I am “familiar.” Her words aren’t my relatives, my companions. They are my fond acquaintances, I have visited infrequently. But I weep. Because a voice like hers is rare. Even nominal awareness belies her profound grasp on what it means to be a human. And today has been colored with her work and her style and her laugh and her story. I have heard “Still I Rise” three…