Ghost Cat
She's a complicated old girl,
Around sixteen years old.
Scared of footsteps and loud noise.
She scurries away when the dog barks.
Her nickname is the Ghost Cat,
Because she's rarely seen by anyone.
Her only human is my mom.
She follows her around
And sits by her when she can.
She ignores me, the cat person.
My mom says she would be much happier
If she could trust more people.
Clearly, she doesn't agree.

The Journey of a Baby Plant

The plant I got for my birthday
Withers in the cold air.
It doesn't do well in winter.
The top of it's stem is pink,
Stressed from too much sun.
I set it in the window sill
And forgot to move it back
To the small plate on the corner
Of my desk where it lives.
It's never fully recovered.
There's a bend in it's stem,
It leans a little too far one way.
I wouldn't say it's thriving,
But it's somehow still alive.
I guess that's what matters.
Summer on the window sill.

Where Do We Go From Here?

Statue of Freedom. 06.09.2016
The question I keep asking myself.
I don't have an answer.
I don't think anyone does.

We stared at screens
As we watched
Everything unravel.

It was a train wreck
But we couldn't look away.

How could this be happening?
Why isn't anyone stopping this?

More questions we asked.
We know more now.
But it doesn't make things right.

We see what we want to see.
Even lies if they're presented correctly.

We're on different sides,
Depending on which truth you believe.

But it shouldn't be about truth.
It should be about what's right and wrong.
What happened was wrong.

Where do we go from here?


Christmas Tree ’20
The light looks different
When the sun disappears early
Behind gray winter clouds.
There's a feeling with how
Vivid the earth looks.
It's a particular sight
That makes me think
The day is transitioning
Into night an hour before
The sun is supposed to set.

A bare Christmas tree
Waits to be hauled away.
Christmas decorations are put
Away on the last day of the year.
The lights will shine bright
On the houses outside
When the clock strikes midnight
Before being brought down
In the new year.

The fire resets itself
Shortly after turning on.
The house is quiet as
I write this poem.
I'm the only human home.
The dog is sleeping
In the front room
On the couch in front
Of the Christmas Tree.
One cat is in the basement,
Probably lying on a garbage bag
Filled with decorative bears.
The other cat is in my room,
Sleeping on a striped
Red and white towel.
He's recovering from a
Month filled with dogs
That wanted to play.
He didn't see it
The  same way.

To Mold A Story

The paths I walked along in summer
Are now muddy from fallen snow.
Autumn leaves stick around in early winter.
The cold air freezes rain.
It's hard to breathe when I can see my breath.
I stay inside, wearing fuzzy socks and warm sweatpants.
My cardigan has pockets big enough to hold my Kindle.
The books I read inspire my writing.
I finally wrote the poem that had been
On my mind for several days.
I didn't know what I wanted it to be
Until it unfolded underneath my fingertips.
The art of creation, forming something out of nothing.
Using words to mold a story not yet told.
To see how things evolve with the seasons
Through a poet's point of view.


No Filter. // 12.20.20
Some nights, I look up towards 
The sky as the sun is setting
And I'll see a masterpiece
In front of me.
Gigantic clouds reflecting the sun,
smaller ones not in the way of light.
A reminder of how small we are
Compared to the sky above.
It's one of those nights
Where a beautiful picture
Doesn't do it justice.

Splitting Once More

I knock on all the wood in the room,
hoping this is a step in the right direction.
I look down and reality splits into two,
a new spin on something I know all too well. 
I throw my phone onto a counter,
thinking I'll forget about it for a while. 
I try to avoid screens, instead I try to read.
There I sit until words split
and closing one eye no longer suffices.
I lie down, covering my eyes,
not sure if I'm telling the truth or a lie,
that this is a part of the process to feeling fine. 

From February 2020

The Hunt For A Christmas Tree

Christmas Tree Hunt 2020 // CO
While this pandemic has foiled
A lot of plans this year,
One thing it didn't mess with was
The annual Christmas Tree hunt.

Every year for the last sixteen years,
My family and some family friends have
Wandered into the woods in search of
The perfect Charlie Brown Christmas Tree.

Normally, when we go on this adventure,
My lungs don't do so well.
However, thanks to quarantine and walking so much,
I could walk up and down hills with more ease. 

It didn't take too long to find our trees.
Afterwards, we had a picnic in the woods.
We discussed how crazy things are
While breathing in the fresh mountain air.

Night Thoughts

July 2020
The moon shines in through my window.
Lighting up a spot on the floor,
Reminds me of an Edward Hopper painting.

I wake from my sleep to let my cat in once more.
My room is a safe space from the visiting dogs
who do not understand why the cat doesn't want to play.

He meows as he walks into my room.
I pick him up and place him on my bed.
He curls up on the old striped towel
And quickly falls asleep.

The neighbors across the street
Have a blue light shining by their door.
I have to sleep on my right side 
To not be bothered by it.

While Christmas lights make everything better,
A blue light in the middle of the night isn't it.

I stare at the light on the floor
Before flipping over to face my sleeping cat.
At least someone's content, I think.

The darkness slows down time,
I fall back asleep quicker than I realize.

Christmas Music

I started playing Christmas Music in early November.
I listen to it while I write,
I write wherever the music takes me.
I see Christmas lights being put up earlier this year.
We put ours up this weekend,
A reminder of how odd this year has been.
The Christmas spirit brings people comfort.
Comforts have been a necessity when everything
In life remains up in the air.