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Upon the Fourth Hour, Sleepless
In the bleak hours before dawn, when shadows stretch and the mind begins to fray, I wrote Upon the Fourth Hour, Sleepless—a lament in the spirit of Poe. It captures the eerie theater of insomnia: the snore, the whimper, the drip, the cries in the dark. Sleep hovers like a phantom, near but never touching.…
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Greener
Taking my dogs on a walk this afternoon, they suddenly flopped down on the neighbors lawn and refused to move. Here I have the grass is greener.
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The weight of choice unmade
Some seasons don’t begin with purpose—we rise only because standing still isn’t an option. This poem comes from that space: where we move not from certainty, but survival. The tree here doesn’t boast triumph; it endures. A monument to becoming when the path is unclear. If you’ve ever felt shaped more by circumstance than choice,…
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The burden of Shame
Some pain is too raw for casual retelling. A few weeks ago, my son sent a short text saying he was ending our relationship and needed time to heal. No explanations—just silence. In that quiet, I imagined what his heart might’ve said if it hadn’t sealed shut. This poem is my interpretation of that silence—not…
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The House I Built
Some houses are built to sell. Others are built with sacrifice—late nights, sore hands, and the hope of something lasting. I poured myself into restoring a home, believing it would hold our future. But life veered. My husband, battling old wounds, left. I walked away from the house to fight for us. What followed broke…
Echoes In The Current 