• College Poetry,  Poetry

    Mismatched Cups

    Free Verse Poetry-For Poetry Workshop Class. “Mismatched Cups” 2002         As long as there Are coffee shops With mismatched cups, And hometown bands Who change the words To their songs, I will look behind me, And hope to see you there. As long as trains come On warm summer nights When you’ve just Bought ice cream, and Your grandmother Tells you more than You ever wanted to know About your grandfather, I’ll stand beside you To protect you From yourself and others. As long as lovers Get caught in storms That end in rainbows, and Stars fall where only Some dare to notice, I will honor you,…

  • Essays,  General Thoughts

    My love history and why I never wrote about my husband until now

    Let me warn you: This post is long. Something my husband and I talked about before he helped me launch this website was the fact that I wrote a lot of material about someone I loved before I met him. I was worried that what I wrote a long time ago would hurt my husband, something I would never do intentionally. Now my husband, Jonathan, is very blunt, as anyone who knows him will tell you. He told me specifically that he is not threatened by my past because it made me who I am—the woman he loves. We talked about my past and his while we were getting to know each…

  • College Poetry,  General Thoughts,  Poetry

    Moving On

    Rhythmic Poetry-For Poetry Workshop Class. “Moving On” 1-29-02 Cobblestones near the wood-stove Were often houses and roads For the sisters’ matchbox cars During stormy summer nights When their game was make-believe. They made elevators of Sheets for stuffed dogs and dolls on Stairs where little sister’s head Got caught in the banisters. Momma’s butter stopped her tears. The circle driveway became Never ending when their bikes Were not locked in the garage. Traffic accidents ended Then with only bleeding knees. Three sisters help pack boxes. They can’t pack the cobblestones, Or the staircase where they played. But nothing is forgotten, Because all homes have old dreams. I was always grateful…