Reader, Thinker, Writer, Lover.
There are girls who walk through the world
like an artic fox or Debussey
stepping lightly
not leaving a mark.
Sometimes I envy them
in their size 6 jeans and their perfect hair,
their sweet voices never loud, never offending.
They are loved, they are easy.
But then there are girls like me
who enter rooms like a bull or Bon Jovi.
Our feet leave a mark
Our voices break open spaces
previously held by men
and by those who benefit
from silence.
Our thighs stretch against our jeans
thick with the work of
breaking horses and playing volleyball
and enjoying a steak.
Our hair is only considered when it’s in the way.
Our butts are big,
Our traps—a bit unladylike,
but we need them for lifting things
Like Justice.
We don’t hesitate to speak
We refuse to be small
when the world tells us
we’re too big.
Anyway, we couldn’t be small if we tried.
We don’t have time for small
when there’s work to be done,
things to be said.
Sometimes I envy those girls
who fit so well into small places,
small conversations.
I envy the ability to pass unnoticed
while I always seem to say too much,
take up too much space.
But Too Much is my calling,
My superpower,
My gift to a world
that wants small women,
but will be forced to deal
with the big ones
Until they are not “too” anything—
They just are.


October 26, 2018

Written by Posted in Blog Posts, Poetry Comments 0

Look up

Notice that leaf

on an uppermost branch.

The wind challenges

its heroic grasp.


All of its treemates

have long since released

their tenuous hold on life

blowing as they do into

far pastures and lanes,

byways fill with their corpses.


They reveal

as they die

the winter’s architecture

of the cottonwood tree-

A ghost in black relief-

the autumn moon watching

through its arms.


Look up

The leaf is holding on

to what is not meant for it -

Holding on

to this idea of immortality -

all the while losing

its grip

on the one life it has known.


This leaf

is one of millions of leaves

come and gone

in this ghost’s lifetime.


In autumn we say goodbye.

October 17, 2018


Written by Posted in Blog Posts, Poetry, Youth at Risk Comments 5

I want to be a light for you


shining the way

down the path,

to the doors,

around the obstacles.


I have no strength to give you,

No solutions to offer you.


I can’t pick you up,

can’t carry you,

can’t force you to see.


All I can do

is say -

Hey look!

Did you notice that?

Do you see the choice?

Can you feel your power?


All I can do is

Light up the dark places -

show you another way to walk.


All I can do is

Shine a light in your heart,

point out what was already there -


which is Strength Unimaginable

Goodness Unrealized

Resilience Untapped.


My light can speak truth

Into your dark places.


Let me be your light.


I couldn’t look at her face

One more day.

Her cry was weak

My milk no longer strong enough

For a toddler

But I had no choice

No options

No food.

* Read more…


No one ever wrote your name in the stars.


Never sat under the night sky

And pointed up, saying,

See how it makes an A, and an N?

You belong to the universe.

You’re made of stardust, child.


No one laid under a tree

In the shade on a sunny day

And pointed up, saying,

See how the world spins?

How all of nature is swirling with joy

Over who you will be?

You belong to Mother Nature.

You’re made of the earth, child.


No one wrapped you up

When you were angry or sad or scared

And pointed to your heart, saying,

See how you feel?

It’s okay. I’m here.

You belong to me.

You’re made of me, child.


Who taught you to

Narrow your eyes

Suspicious of everything

And everyone

Who will let you down…

Because they will let you down?


Who has said,

You’re not stardust,

You’re just dust.

You’re not made of earth,

You’re just dirt.

You’re not made of me,

I don’t want you?


Give me a chance, child.


Let me show you

The glimmer of stardust in your eyes,

And how your horse responds

To the earth in your body,

You two made of the same clay.


Let me show you

That you are me,


And I am you,


And we belong to each other,


And that it is safe to hope.


“The cosmos is with us. We are made of star-stuff. We are the way for the universe to know itself.”

- Carl Sagan

September 27, 2016

A Fig

Written by Posted in Horse Magic, Poetry Comments 6

I call myself a Teacher

but today,

the horse called me



It said, stand back.

Watch how I gather

unruly energy

and place it,

quiet, but white hot

in their bellies.


Watch how I pluck

unintelligible words from the air

and make them clear.


Opaque hearts,

now transparent.

Inscrutable eyes,



Observe, teacher,

how I take the shy

the loner

the heartbroken

the sad

and lean into them –

filling the dark holes,

demanding presence.


Making them forget for a moment

their cuts

their violence

their hunger.


And so, today, I am not a teacher.

Like Amos,

I am not a prophet,

nor am I the son of a prophet,

but I am a herdsman,

plucking wild figs.”


I’m gathering their stories.

Hold out your hand -

I’m giving them to you.

September 2, 2016


Written by Posted in Poetry Comments 0

Hard lines, curves.

Circles bringing you

back around,

spiraling in and out

of the heart.

Broken pieces

hidden under strength,

color peeking from

behind black and white

and black oozing

from the inner sanctuary.

And abstraction,

An Actuality –

housed in the same body.



Holding on

looking away.

Shapes and dribbles

held up by borders

of another’s design

struggling to break


Voice lodged in the throat

head down

bent low

walking forward

Bridges in and out of

the heart

Leading to here

and to heaven

and to hell.


**inspired by the abstract expressionist painting  “Woman” by Judith Godwin – 1954.

April 23, 2016

Written by Posted in Poetry Comments 1

In the space 

between winter sunrises

and summer sunsets

lies a brief moment 

of Technicolor green.


It pours over my eyelids

satiating the thirst.

I blink

and squint

and blink again,

wondering if this is a dream 

or a wish

I’ll wake up from.


It heats up my corneas 

and burns my retinas.

I close my eyes

and still, I see it – 



blades and leaves 

shouting their birth,

their significance 

in the order of things.


I’m drunk

I’m dizzy.

I swim in the briefness

the gaiety

the reverie

of spring.

March 9, 2016

Written by Posted in Horse Magic, Poetry Comments 1

Sometimes I catch her gazing at the sunrise.

She faces east

and looks up, staring

as she chews her hay.


She seems to be contemplating;

but, what? Read more…


My thoughts have exploded into a million pieces and are floating flotsam above my head. I try to reach up and catch them and piece them back together, but they turn to dust on my fingertips. I let go and look up and they’ve formed back into broken bits of gravel, irritating my mind.


I arrive and sit on the mat, placed in my favorite spot where the sunlight filters through the window; and I begin to rein in my breath.


Read more…