I am woman, a poem.

In honor of National Infertility Awareness Week. For all mothers who wish they were. You are still you.

I am woman.

I am moon and stars and voices on the winter wind.

I am a young girl with sparkles of hope in her eyes as she gazes at the fading sun.

I am in awe of my daddy and enamored with my husband.

I bring balance to the male, to the brash, to the swift.

I am Mother Earth, worrying and waiting over the birth of life.

I am whispers of life on the summer breeze coming over the fields.

I am new green leaves of growth in a garden.

I bring life and nurturing to pain and sorrow.

I am skin and sinew and organs and blood.

I have sorrow of my own.

I am every bleed, every cycle, every lost child.

I am silent voices in the night crying in desperation.

I have light in my eyes after unspeakable loss.

I am woman.

Seven miles.

Seven miles of clouds

Seven miles of cold

Seven miles of humidity

Seven miles of hills

Seven miles started with ‘it’s too cold’

Seven miles ended with ‘the cold is refreshing’

Seven miles started with ‘this view is boring’

Seven miles ended with ‘this view is home’

Seven miles started with ‘I can’t do this’

Seven miles ended with ‘I can do anything’

Seven miles started with ‘I’m hungry’

Seven miles ended with ‘I’m satisfied’

Seven miles started with ‘I’m weak’

Seven miles ended with ‘I’m strong’

Seven miles started with sadness

Seven miles ended with elation

Seven miles started with ‘this hurts’

Seven miles ended with ‘this heals’





>grown up


so is this what it’s like to grow up?
to look on life from the outside
just watching and waiting
and waiting and watching
to find some semblance of order
and mercy of life in the aftercalm of
near death experiences, bipolar tendencies,
clanking beer bottles, cigarette butts and
three Little girls, the product of love
so is this what it’s like to grow up?
to realize that parents and their parents
aren’t getting any younger
they aren’t getting any stronger
and they still aren’t as wrong as we think sometimes
to realize that prayer can work
that the past cannot be rewritten
but still can be redeemed with
three Little girls, the product of love
so is this what it’s like to be grown up?
to just be thankful for the time we have
the laughs we share, and
that we’re all ok, we’re all fine, we’re all making it through
parents who still love each other
thirty years later
and three Little girls, the product of love