Where I Am From


I am from old Historian words
a gripping sea/rivers pouring fish
the new land’s tide covering
baby’s breath

I am from a massive family
eldest of seven, little hands
grabbing hold of big sister legs
the depth of heartbeats
matching my own

I am from a wide coastline
saltwater Sundays and men
making merry
the company they keep

An exercise in telling where you’re from without actually saying where you’re from. George Ella Lyon does it/did it best. This was a writing exercise presented to us during my first day of orientation at my new job this past Monday, June 18, 2018. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

June Visual Verse Prompt: Milk & Honey

This month’s Visual Verse prompt is an interesting one. I thought it a great opportunity to do a bit of flash fiction for this image. It’s an intriguing image and the subject appears at peace–serene. The first thing that came to my mind is a cleansing, how something is purged or can be purged from our system, our hearts, and our minds. Below, you will find a snippet of my contribution for this month and then, a link to the piece in its entirety.

As always, thank you for reading.

Milk & Honey

The cool blend of milk and honey wrapped itself around her. This would be a cleansing, a release of the heartache that plagued her for weeks. She never thought she would have to say goodbye to a love that lasted longer than her dream of love. Three years… Three sacred years that she will never get back, gone — forever.

As she stood still, every pore of her body welcomed the cleanse and pulsed with sensation. She thought of his touch, his breath, his hands pressed onto her spine. He was all over her: in her bedroom and her walls. He had taken over everything she knew.

Many thanks to Visual Verse and to all of you for stopping by. The rest of the entry is here: Milk & Honey.

Tithes & Offerings

Finding Peace With My Father

Courtesy of Pinterest

I am not searching
For my kin
Men give me hives
And women drive me crazy

You wanted me
Settled by now —
Baby hipped, bare feet
No cause for

But, I am full of
All needing answers.
I hold back.
Every year, I chicken out.
Clucked by the best, my
Demons fester and you
Pop up when I
Am trying to understand
Where to go from here.

The path I have taken
Only leads me to
The same circle I have
Met for 25 years,
I step out of the circle,
Refusing its enclosure,
I draw a line.

You cannot cross it.

My heart blocks
The pain of a
Lost child begging to
Be understood, wanting
To be heard in the
Noisy body of
Cheerful congregations.
They pass
Our family secrets around
In the collection plate.

One drops a 20.
He needs change.
He knows our story
From front to back,
I do not sit next to him.
Each secret floats, heavy
Like coins, clinging
To musty bills,

Testimonies are next.

You say, “I have a confession
To make. I love my children.
I would die without them.
I could die without them.
Nothing has changed.”
You are happy.
Beaming, proud Daddy
Wishing to knee-us-up
And bounce us until
We lose ourselves.

I see your happiness.
I reach into my clutch
As the plate comes around,
Pull out a smile
And I tell my neighbor,
“Pass it along.”

Originally published on June 18, 2017, via Medium. Happy Father’s Day!