I finally started writing in a new journal, which my dad gave to me for Christmas some years ago. It is beautiful, and I was so very excited to begin filling its pages after finishing my last journal. I can't wait to see what it will hold. How many moments, tears, smiles, years? What anxieties will pour forth, what thin places will be recorded?
For now, here are the first two poems:
{untitled}
Purple juice bleeds down
eager fingers, settling
in the creases of our palms--
leaves scratch, thorns grab,
chastising us for breaking
innocent spiders' webs
in greedy hunger for
blackberry cobbler.
{untitled}
It's August yet,
though crows call
to a breeze that draws
a thin time
ever nearer.











