The Feed

I am overbearingly sentimental. Everything must have life, everything must breathe air. Memories, trees, rushing water, even wind, invisible as she is. Even the specks of dust that catch in the light seeping through cracks in the window. Even the creeks, even the brooks, even the spines of my books. All of it must be more than mere existence. Everything must know touch. Everything must know love. Even the creaking swings on the playgrounds I grew up on, even the blades of gra

I hate dissecting forgiveness like it’s a corpse frog on an eighth grader’s desk. I don’t want to explain it. Or debate it. I just want to feel it. So let me tell you how I feel it. Forgiveness is how I remain whole. Without it, I begin living in fractions, letting pieces of myself stay behind. Without it, I am half of me. And I don’t quite like being half of me. Forgiveness has nothing to do with excusing someone and everything to do with preserving myself. I learned this fo

There is adrenaline where my blood should be. I think that’s why I fall so easily. No seriously. I am the most uncoordinated, directionally challenged person in nearly every room or trail, or road. I run into walls. Trip over my own feet. My hips bruise purple against counters. When I was a kid, I mixed up my lefts and rights so badly I had to rename them: Right was happy. Left was sad. That’s another thing. There are emotions where my sense of reason should be. There is adre

something about new zealand's oceans reminded me that it’s okay to appear peaceful and tame, yet be capable of carrying unmeasurable depth. to carry mysteries so big, yet only offer the quick flash of a whale tail on the surface. to show that beneath a shiny exterior exists answers waiting for discovery.  something about the downpours of the rainforest, only a few miles from drought stricken hills, reminded me that even the earth sobs and because it does, everything beneath i

January 8th, 2026 Last year, I welcomed abundance into my life. As my best friends and I gathered in my childhood home to make our yearly vision boards, I knew that mine would be fulfilled. I was not just slabbing Mod Podge over aesthetic pictures. I was embedding intention into the next twelve months. My 2025 vision board included the following: Living in the mountains and great outdoors with a move to Maine  Having a place of my own  A dog by the side of a twenty something

When I first boarded my plan home to Massachusetts 13 days ago, I had a burn on my right middle finger. I’d gotten it a week prior from my oven door, and in the Idaho dry air it refused to heal. Today, when I boarded my plane back to Idaho, in the Massachusetts moisture, the burn on my right middle finger had almost healed visible, scarred, and sore to the touch, but almost healed. I suppose this isn’t a poem about my finger, is it?

Last night I dreamt the constellations were wrapped around my waist Orion’s Belt pressing into my hip bones. Last night I dreamt the constellations curved my back. Printed into my chest. I slept with the sky, freckled like the inside of your elbows. I’ve been airborne given way to gravity, given in to gravity. I was once lifted by your gravity. I was among the constellations once. The constellations grieve, too.

Yesterday I met Peter, an older gentleman from my neighborhood. He patted my pup on the head and told me his wife goes to the pound to find the most troubled dog she can—because she believes she can fix them.“And she does,” he said with a smile. Today I met his wife. I waved from across the road, and she hurried over like an old friend. My usually shy pup melted under her touch, tail thumping with joy. “I like to go to the pound and pick the dogs with the most problems,” she

If you should ever find yourself looking for me look by the riverbeds. I’ll be deep in dialogue with the tip of my pen, Blanketed in the...

I cannot control everything I cannot change perspectives, cannot force reconciliation or summon inner restoration. I cannot make you...