my feet on the ground

knowing exactly where i am

with the earth

.

not knowing

exactly which direction

i’m facing

not remembering

the day of the week

not noticing

the time of day

entirely unaware of what i need to go do next

having fully forgotten

even if only for a moment

the items

cascading down

every list of to-dos

.

savoring

not doing

sinking

into the ground

steeping

in the thick of the air

stretching

into space a little more

with each

and every

breath

.

no longer in the land of doing

but instead

simply being

here.

If you’d like to hear how the pacing of these words flows in my body, enjoy the audio included above.

Kemback, April 2025

bridging open space

and an open cage

standing tall

an unknowing escape

they call her bold

.

when all she holds

within her fur

is all she knows to be

is she being brave and bold

or is she simply free?

.

they do just fine

when on their own

it’s us humans who got in the way

and what if that’s true

not only for these little tigers

but also, for us too?

.

how do we find a branch to bridge

where we are and our own wild

when we’ve been whisked away

—planted in a wasteland—

not yet longing for home?

.

If you’d like to hear how the pacing of these words flows in my body, enjoy the audio included above.

like when your hair is long enough

it’s weighed down

but still has

body

to move

.

just enough pressure

that nothing shatters

or snaps

but bends

cracking

open

.

just enough madness

anchored by grief

gutted by

sadness

laughter

relief

.

and just enough hope

to believe

it matters

to still

speak

.

If you’d like to hear how the pacing of these words flows in my body, enjoy the audio included above.

.

this is not my house

but my yoga mat’s rolled out

I’m wrapped in my favorite blanket

and there are kittens on the couch

.

this is not my house

but that bag of baking soda’s leftover

from the life I lived across this town

when my parents lived much closer

.

this is not my house

but my pillows were waiting for me

left behind until I’d rest my head

with this timezone and these trees

.

this is not my house

but it’s been home these past two weeks

before I know it, again I’ll say goodbye

and be back, next to the sea

.

A lovely tree blanketed mountain in East Tennessee, September 2025.

you do not know me

too loud

chaotic

and could sweep me away in a wave

.

you don’t hug me like

the trees and the wind

or know

the sturdiness

of a mountain range

.

but your cool touch

wrapping around my skin

softens me

into

one

more

step

.

the nearly clear blue

of your bright crystal hue

once more

stifles

my breath

.

I’m still unsure

if I want to know you

if you could replace what I miss

.

maybe I’ll expand space

for a new love

and embrace

another salty

kiss

.

A picture from the day and place where I wrote the first draft of this poem.

you and I both cultivate

use our voices

and create

.

you and I both speak what’s true

but we’ve grown up

with more than one or two

.

differences in our soil

planted in different ground

you savored clear skies

with sunshine all around

.

you haven’t tasted the darkness

or the scarcest desert dew

you can’t understand my blossoms

what you mistake for blissful blooms

.

These are survival scars

ones I never asked to grow

and while they now abound

their start was deathly and slow

.

and so I sit and smile

pretending I’m just fine

when really, your root system

makes me feel the weight of mine

Heather starting to bloom in the highlands of Scotland, July 2025.

Sometimes people ask me a question

and I answer

not remembering that this too

was trauma

.

I tell you a story

answer your question

state a fact

.

you hear the harm

and in disbelief

signal back

.

a jaw cascading down to the ground

eyes open wide and white

brows inching up above

and a deep breath nowhere in sight

.

so I look back at you

unalarmed

I’ve seen this face before

.

I’ll just wait here a minute

give you some space

before I help you scoop your jaw up off the floor

.

I will not make you a narrative

or condition you into chapters

with characters to figure out

coherent plot lines to gather

.

I will not make you a manuscript

or soften you into story

tame wild into tidy

cultivate anonymity

.

Maybe I’ll make you poems

shape you into sounds

honor all the both-ands

in language deep & round

.

Maybe I’ll make you mysteries

in lines of two or three

or maybe I’ll let you

be the one to shape me

Can you guess which of these is the first draft? :)

I yelled at the man driving toward me

I shamed myself with regret

I didn’t want to go to the doctor

I didn’t want to feel anxiety in my chest

.

I shamed myself with regret

the birds were singing, I wish those blossoms weren’t so soggy

I didn’t want to feel anxiety in my chest

I could smell the air and see the ground

.

the birds were singing, I wish those blossoms weren’t so soggy

I’m no longer stuck inside myself

I could smell the air and see the ground

other people, they live here too

.

I’m no longer stuck inside myself

I didn’t want to go to the doctor

other people, they live here too

I yelled at the man driving toward me

.

Last month, I had the opportunity to go to a poetry retreat. I’ve never formally written poetry and am playing with poetry forms for the first time. This is my first pantoum structure poem based on things that I noticed during the week leading up to the retreat. At first I thought it felt random and didn’t flow, but then when I saw the order of repeated lines fall together, especially toward the end, I felt like it came together beautifully.

I misread the mileage

I lost service on my phone

I was going to be late for dinner

but I knew I was already home

.

She kept on stepping forward

like somehow she knew

what was around the corner

the grazing sheep and the dew

.

golden rays stretched through me slowly

sinking beneath the rocks

my feet scampered over

she couldn’t be stopped

.

my body brought me before

the tides furthest reach

the stones whisked with water

I breathed in peace

.

If you’d like to hear how the pacing of these words flows in my body, enjoy the audio included below.

the floor dropped beneath my stomach

my brain was no longer shielding me from the depths of it

and my body started to feel it

to feel it all

.

Confusion, like I had been knocked down by a wave

and turned in seven different directions

under water, I couldn’t see

.

but I could feel it all, and taste it too

.

surrounded by saltiness

the soft sand like sturdy ground I couldn’t grip

my body started to feel it

to feel it all

.

I find my feet and start to stand

a

giraffe

rising

if I stay where I am another wave will come

another journey sideways

.

and if I were at the coast, I’d walk away from the sea

but here I am in my body

here I am in me

.

last edited 4/29

Like hidden corners

under the kitchen sink

it’s time to finally clear out

the things I didn’t know

sat dormant for years

the lingering shame & doubt

.

Countless hours of journaling

and therapy too

but still something’s in there

like something that’s missing

.

except it’s not absent

it’s (actually!) too present

.

the gift of spiritual trauma

is one that keeps on giving

unless you learn to return or exchange

the residue and the ribbons

.

red flags that once looked docile

like a beacon of solid ground

I now know in truth signaled

your own little kingdom

your own bounds

.

How did I find myself in that place?

still no soothing answers.

.

I can’t go back and change that day

but under the sink I can clear out the clutter

.