/*! elementor – v3.7.8 – 02-10-2022 */ .elementor-widget-image{text-align:center}.elementor-widget-image a{display:inline-block}.elementor-widget-image a img[src$=”.svg”]{width:48px}.elementor-widget-image img{vertical-align:middle;display:inline-block} Gloria, Fall 2022, Sol
/*! elementor – v3.7.8 – 02-10-2022 */ .elementor-widget-image{text-align:center}.elementor-widget-image a{display:inline-block}.elementor-widget-image a img[src$=”.svg”]{width:48px}.elementor-widget-image img{vertical-align:middle;display:inline-block} I Can’t Stand It
/*! elementor – v3.7.8 – 02-10-2022 */ .elementor-widget-image{text-align:center}.elementor-widget-image a{display:inline-block}.elementor-widget-image a img[src$=”.svg”]{width:48px}.elementor-widget-image img{vertical-align:middle;display:inline-block} Welcome Home, Fall 202
Today I saw a red leaf turn and falland don upon its face that orange mask.A Halloween occurrence from back home,up here, anything beyond August goes. I had to go northward, I had to knowjust how does fresh snow land on a facewhen not merely sprinkled, but dumpedby playful Jack Frost and lake effect
Back then I thought everything needed a heart:the dots over the two little i’s in my name;the lids of my art class clay pinch pots;drawings of cats with too-long whiskersriding on bright green trains that fellright off the page. But then I learned there are animals with no heart:starfish, sponges,
For Ireland’s Home BabiesBased on the exhibition (A)Dressing our Hidden Truths by Alison Lowry located at the National Museum of Ireland-Decorative Arts & History There are ghosts in those glass gowns.I see it now: tiny, little,limp phantom limbs, danglinglifelessly (swaying in the draft).S
there are times such that i want to hold the world in my palm as gentle as if made of glass or babies or metimes i want to cup orange seashells and shiny blue stones and whisper in their ears sweet soothingstimes i want to kiss them and carry them and love them, keep them […]
Tonight, the brisk nighttime winds and the shrinking sliver of a moon signal the unwelcome arrival of a new month. August is hovering like a shadow I can’t beat, with its aggressive behavior and insensitivity to these sacred yet fleeting moments of summer. What I have here, in late Jul
A peach room, powder pink wallpaper with cream colored thread gently weaving a pattern. The mind must seat itself upon that vanity. Leather-bound poetry book in hand, some whimsy, magical mystery–– love for life, flowing out: a creek in the fairy garden. Chasing a chorus of silver sirens
I have a pet named Habit who has paws like a bear, a bear made of humming strips of honey, paws with retracted claws I refuse to remove, and deep brown eyes, so deep they crunch like autumn leaves and smell like drips of maple syrup. Each strand of fur appears auburn, though up […]
