Too much for my city. Too much for mothers. It's been national news, you probably already know about the young mother of two boys who was brutally slain in Memphis, TN. To say that the loss of Liza has had a profound impact on Memphis, is saying the very least. To say that it has hurt every mother I know...
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The love a mother has with her child is vulnerable In no other relationship will someone know you from the guts In no other love will they touch the ugliness of you and still call it home
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The ocean in me swells with a warning: It’s the salt that alters fresh water to brine. (His salt). I once grew a blooming reef and sheltered a tiny, silvery fish ‘til she was ready to slip through the coral archway. She took the reef with her. It’s okay, I tell myself. I like feeling still. Too much salt kills....
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The story of a mother’s love is that it’s limitless implicit The first love we know and the last love we cry out for But I know mothers and the love I see is deep in the bones wavers between firm and yielding can be fractured is holy and imperfect
The Second Child I Will Never Have
As I lay in bed alone late one night, my 5 year old daughter sleeping soundly in her own room (she'll be sleep walking in here soon), I begin to imagine what my postpartum time would have been like in the house we live in now. My daughter was born in Los Angeles, and we welcome her home to a...
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I didn’t walk blindly into the befogged chasm In fact I hurtled myself down at breakneck speed knowing it would hurt knowing it would steal me of my youth And yet not knowing what love I would find there
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There’s milk and a sweet smell. The bed sheets, mangled. The bed is gravity—I slink toward it, whether I want to or not. I live in a body I do not know. A lot of people never bounce back. I went through a big thing but no one wants to hear about it. It’s too hot and I’m not used...
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I hate these short dark days of unyielding winter Postpartum (postmortem) body (self) in various states of decay My life force escaping out of every pore every orifice All the pads soaking me up Little fish mouth eating me up There’s a long night ahead met by a cold morning My breath hangs in the air cumulous There would be...