Around the house

Black club chairs
white fibrous tufts emerging from
jagged fringed tailored fabric

Ivory paper floor lamp
wrinkled, ripped, leaning,

grey slab table top under
a stack of supplies for the day,
plastic shoebox full of
paintbrushes, paper plates, and promises
sterile folding clipboard gathered
prompts for patients to play
bedside poetry for
health, healing, and hope


From a prompt, “List the things you can see around your house. Break it into lines. Is it a poem?”
Online poetry class through the Charter For Compassion,

I Whispered, “No”

I whispered, “No.” 
I whispered, 

I whispered because it was
the raised voice
of fear and dread
that raised
fists and so
I never raise
my voice because
I see it
my only choice.
I stay beneath,
a whispered no,
the closest
I can get to just.
I keep myself
quiet, hidden,
I must.

Out of pure
I was thrust.

The whisper that
was meant for you
may not have
met your ear.
The raised fists that
railed against
tender hearts
were never yours
and yet I aimed
my rage at you
for years.

Out of quiet
went my pure.

Now I raise
my shakeless voice
to love myself
and lift the curse.
The loss, the taking
was no one
in that room’s



grounded 12x12 acrylic on canvas

grounded 12x12 acrylic on canvas

seduced by a spotlight
reduced to a spot of light
my path is step by step
the great things I do
are desperate efforts to
prove I belong 

seducing myself to exist at all
reducing myself over and over
when the curtain falls
the truth is I am small

the truth is a spot of light
begs me to sit with the truth
and hold it all
in the dark
in the corner
out of the limelight
the world has plenty of
giants to call

mine is quiet 
a tiny light
but a light nonetheless
and as long as I focus on 
the light,
not the dark
not the corner
but the light
i am
I am