some days I do not just feel sorrow some days I am the sorrow I am the grey sky that threatens spitting snow I am

Reclaiming my inner badass at 50
some days I do not just feel sorrow some days I am the sorrow I am the grey sky that threatens spitting snow I am
it is a stretch for me to reach out across this shifting distance this shaky ground hand extended toward you a journey across a deep chasm for
I can feel the fading as color washes out of me I grow transparent insubstantial my feet no longer make contact with the ground I
This is an autobiographical fragment from my first year at the University of Pennsylvania’s School of Social Policy and Practice back in 1990. For those who
some days I do not just feel sorrow some days I am the sorrow I am the grey sky that threatens spitting snow I am
This is an autobiographical fragment from my first year at the University of Pennsylvania’s School of Social Policy and Practice back in 1990. For those who
my days have become hourglass-shaped I rise early morning hours sit in front of my screen in quiet stillness feel alone in the world reflective internal
A collaborative poem with my incredibly talented friend Stephen Fuller. applause fills my ears like gin in my glass accolades for how well I convey
she knew something of longing that soul ache aroused without warning tears that well up unbidden phantom hand squeezing her heart her lungs leaving her