The Attic


A ghost fashioned out of love and nostalgia to calm my storm paces the attic floor. The lines of her hands trace up the stairs with fingerprints and echoes of laughter. Aching for the breath and bones, I sit with the construct as she continues to color me. With all that grace and light she speaks to what was and what should have been. I gently nod and remind the ghost I have made, she is loved truly and unconditionally.




My Dawn


Before my dawn……………

I stepped out

Onto cold basement concrete

Only to have it fall away

To head-smack another bedrock

My dawn was……………..

A chemical key

Shattered a dark lock

And flew open the doors to

Raw emotion laid bare

That uncut magick

The profound source

Of much needed healing

After my dawn……………..

Washed spotless

Of my sad tyrant

I shave from my face

Tired toxic stubble

To begin anew