I really do try to be out here rocking my own style. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
Autumn’s wings
the chill in the air is what I live for; the wind that picks up moves in the right direction for me to glide on it gracefully.
I walk on Autumn’s wings, at peace with the calm that comes with it.
the love given to a bonsai tree
have you ever pondered the life of a bonsai tree? contained and pruned regularly to stay alive. the love it must take to have someone tend to what you need at the exact moment you need it is nothing short of humane. your livelihood is built around the caring heart of a human being who spares time to pour into you what they may not pour into others.
isn’t that remarkable? how many of us would thrive in a small container, shaped and structured to fit our home—safe, secure, and sturdy throughout many years ahead?
my money’s on not many.
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?
I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.
The body works hard Time’s priceless Money-hungry days
Everything’s sky high Overtime Increases savings
Dying on my feet Will save me Last chance at this life
Modern-day misfit Making do Twelve-hour shift’s over
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?
I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.
my baby’s prints came today… her paws… I’d been waiting for them since the 12th of September. a lovely sympathy card accompanied the red pieces of art, neatly tucked behind them. every member of our vet’s office signed it. their words and names crowding the corners. I smile. I cry. I remember the best part of my life no longer exists.
I stand at the edge of my kitchen, shifting on the balls of my feet. I am shaking. I tilt my head to look at each print, and the smell of Jernee wafts across the room and lingers in the hallway. she’s still alive in me; she hasn’t let go. or, maybe I’m still holding on?
Zumi pats at the glass of its terrarium, bargaining for my attention, and I rush over to see what the fuss is about. food? check. water? check. I think it just wants to hear my voice, so I call its name in a sing-songy way to appease it. Zu-mi, Zu-mi, Zuuuumiiii. what a silly tortoise you are. it looks up at me and then walks with urgency to its hidey-hole. we all need comfort. tortoises are not exempt.
our home is quieter than it’s ever been. the tapping of paws are no longer morning gifts or late-night signals of an impatient senior dog who “had me at, hello.” I don’t know what I’m doing with this life of mine now, I’m just mulling on—making do.
I say that all I need is work—to keep busy, but I think I am telling myself this because I am afraid of what will happen to me if I sit down and focus on every passing thought of a love that was the greatest love I’ve ever known. where will I land if I give my heart permission to break and stay broken?
is there a name for people who are no longer whole without the pets they spent nearly two decades becoming one with? I don’t like having to answer the same questions every other day: “How are you?” How are you holding up?” “What are you doing with yourself now?”
I wish there was a perfect way to say, “I am cracking and folding into myself because somehow I no longer feel safe alone with my brain, heavy heart, and dying soul. somehow, I no longer feel safe in this body. something is not right. something is not right.
it’s more than losing Jernee, it’s all the ick of the world that is seeping into our skin, making our veins its home. we’re trapped. so, sometimes, I just need poetry when everything is wrong around me, and there’s no guarantee it’ll change.
I need poetry to help me remember who… and why I am.
Hello, beautiful people. David at The Skeptic’s Kaddish and I collaborated and produced a pretty decent rengay that I’d love for you to spend a little time with.
It was fun creating with David, and the finished product gives me joy.
I needed a bit of a mental literary task, so I was happy to get the invite from David. He’s an extremely talented writer who has many bags of poetic tricks up his sleeve.
Here’s a sneak peek:
tll- rainy days are gifts they hide tears I’ve been shedding fruits of labor lost
db- dew seeps into severed crowns black rot spreads despite soft hands
tll- dank air surrounds me enchanted for a second but no prince charming
db- midnight carriage stops
Follow the link below to go on a Broken Enchantment adventure.
Jernee Timid & I during her fifteen-minute twilight phase. Photo Credit: Karlie B. Cornelius
Fifteen minutes isn’t enough time to say goodbye to a best friend.
It’s light work. A chit-chat session. An offering for small talk.
I needed forever. I didn’t get it.
Life is a reminder that we all meet our demise. No one is exempt.
My mind knows this. It has processed the definitive inevitability of an end date one thousand times, but my heart?!
My heart is still on pause.
I worry… how long will it remain in limbo while everything else within me moves without stopping?
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?
I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak aboutthe most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.
Part II: I have two jobs now; I didn’t know caretaking for a senior dog would be this hard.
August 22, 2025. Part I of a two-part video of a regular morning with Jernee, now as she continues to decline.
This is the first part of how our mornings go now that Jernee is no longer fully independent. She cannot hear. She cannot see. She is losing her faculties and is not truly aware of where she is and what to do.
Being a watchdog for your dog is crazy work, but I eagle-eye her like a hawk, trying my best to keep her safe and to comfort her. The facial expressions she wears now are a combination of confused, lost, sad, and frustrated. My baby girl rarely looks excited, happy, and free these days.
This is the video I cannot watch without breaking down; without losing my cool and feeling like a partial failure because of what’s happening to her. Logically, I know I am not at fault. I know this is God’s plan. We all have to make our grand exit off of this plane and onto the next, but tell that to my heart.
I don’t get much sleep. She wakes up at random hours during the night in a mild state of confusion, or she wants to go outside to potty, or it’s a combination of both.
When she’s whining, I know she’s confused, and she simply needs to be calmed down, so I soothe her and put her in the bed with me. Those moments are the hardest.
I have had to find new ways to keep her safe while I’m at home because if she cannot sense my presence, she will run around our apartment frantically until she can. If she knows I’m at home, she wants me near her, no questions about it.
Taking this into consideration and knowing I do not want her to injure herself, I place her bed we use for sitting outside on our balcony, in the kitchen and bathrooms so she can be around me. Wild, right?!
Yes, you may be saying to yourself, “Why are you doing this?!” But if you witness how terrified Jernee is when she knows I am home and she doesn’t sense me, you would understand.
Jernee Timid: sitting at our kitchen’s entrance in her bed while I prepare her and Zumi’s food, and clean up afterward. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
When I do this, there is peace in our home. She isn’t whining. She isn’t terrified and panting from searching throughout our apartment for me. She isn’t alone. She knows Mommy isn’t too far away, and that comforts her.
And as long as she is comfortable and in a peaceful state, then I can be “right as rain.”
Please do not let anyone tell you that caring for a senior dog who is declining is easy. I am bearing witness and living through it, and can testify that it is not. It is a labor of love, and a multitude of patience should be in tow.
If you cannot love and you are not patient, do not become a dog owner. Eventually, you will have to endure the inevitable, and they deserve people who will walk calmly and lovingly alongside them toward the end.
A Cornered Gurl 
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