The Heat of Autumn- Jane Hirshfield 

The heat of autumn 

is different from the heat of summer.   

One ripens apples, the other turns them to cider.   

One is a dock you walk out on,   

the other the spine of a thin swimming horse 

and the river each day a full measure colder.   

A man with cancer leaves his wife for his lover. 

Before he goes she straightens his belts in the closet,   

rearranges the socks and sweaters inside the dresser 

by color. That’s autumn heat: 

her hand placing silver buckles with silver,   

gold buckles with gold, setting each   

on the hook it belongs on in a closet soon to be empty,   

and calling it pleasure.


She (The beginning and end)


Since I’m her baby

I still tend to see myself as an extension of her

Can be catalogued in the ways that I see myself through the lens of her existence








See, I came from Shari’s scar

From a sleepy town and

A tomboy like Scout

Built by her personality

And the corners of Klagg and Girard

East Trenton had me skipping school, too

And astounding teachers

Still I surpassed the beliefs of others

Except her

Even now,

I am a merely a reflection of her


Sounds Like Pearls- Maya Angelou

 I was scrolling through the blog on Sunday night and realized that I’ve posted a lot of Angelou. Coincidentally, I’ve been waiting to share this piece for a while. This poem is a testament to the power of short poems. Look at the imagery and sound that she managed to 

I hope you all enjoy it! 

Like pearls
Roll off your tongue
To grace this eager ebon ear.

Doubt and fear, 

Ungainly things,
With blushings


Ritual Silences

Whisper and shout 

Should be natural enemies

You make them the closest friends.

You mumble explanations as you go about your favorite activities

While I shout and admonish the sheer daredevil behavior

You whisper shhhh as your great great grandmother sleeps

But shout at the sight of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse

It is a cycle that we perpetuate daily

And while my voice gets tired

My heart swells in the shadow of your smile. In the beauty of your hugs and the largesse of your heart. 


Writing…The Beginning 

I fell in love with storytelling at the feet of one of my great grandmothers.  Her ability to weave a story was probably my first experience with literature. With that being said, the allure of crafting my own literature, my own stories is something that I believe flows through my blood. 

I recently read something from one of my favorite authors and she said that writing the story is easy part. For me, that’s the major problem. I craft all of these storylines and bits of dialogue but sitting down and committing to an entire story is where I fall apart.This year, I have started no less than three pieces and have yet to finish any of them. When I realized that I went back to some of my previous pieces and began to examine them. Trying to see if they were viable or needed to be scrapped. 

  Part of the problem seems to be me. When I get an idea, I am devoted to it until I think I have it figured out.  As a creative writing student, I was forced to explore these ideas and to ultimately decide whether they could work. Now it  all falls to me. And although I am not as busy as any other writer, I find it difficult to juggle all of my other interests and obligations with my desire to write prose. 

So I’m going back to some of the lessons that I gained in grad school. I’m digging out my craft books and trying to stick to my writing routine…but maybe I should just start writing. And not stop until I’m done. 


Smart Girls Read Poetry

My apologies, the previous post was the unfinished version of this piece. It was inspired by the link at the end of the post. 

For a very long time, writing has been a balm for me. It has helped me survive enormous losses and almost always helped me navigate the emotional minefield of life. Well reading poetry has done the same. We all read for different reasons but I read to be entertained, to learn new things, and to be inspired. When I first began reading poetry, I didn’t have any of the hang ups that people normally associate because I was so young. 

We first met when I was a young girl. It was the beauty of the words that I connected with. Later, when I needed help navigating the whirlwind of teenage emotions, when I was grieving losses as minor as cutting my hair and as major as lost friends poetry was there. 

Time and again, it has helped me to navigate my way through life. I feel the same comfort and creative spark from reading and watching poetry as I do from writing it. 

Smart girls(and guys) read poetry and write it too! 



Smart Girls Read Poetry

For a very long time, writing has been a balm for me. It has helped me survive enormous losses and almost always helped me navigate the emotional minefield of life.

We first met when I was a young girl. It was the beauty of 
It has helped me when I was cloistered in teenage emotions, when I was grieving 

Smart girls read poetry and smart girls write it too!


poetry, Uncategorized

The Song of the Feet-Nikki Giovanni

This poem is everything to me. I am taking yet another class and this poem was one that I selected and used in my introduction. Nikki Giovanni’s way with words is astounding. Her writing is all the things that I associate with the word “poetry.” In this piece, she paints a portrait so clear, not just of being a black woman in America but she also weaves in this beautiful history of this country and how America essentially built itself after freedom. Just beautiful! I hope you all enjoy.

Have a great weekend!




It is appropriate that I sing
The song of the feet
The weight of the body
And what the body chooses to bear
Fall on me
I trampled the American wilderness
Forged frontier trails
Outran the mob in Tulsa
Got caught in Philadelphia
And am still unreparated
I soldiered on in Korea
Jungled through Vietman sweated out Desert Storm
Caved my way through Afghanistan
Tunneled the World Trade Center
And on the worst day of my life
Walked behind JFK
Shouldered MLK
Stood embracing Sister Betty
I wiggle my toes
In the sands of time
Trusting the touch that controls my motion
Basking in the warmth of the embrace
Day’s end offers with warm salty water
It is appropriate I sing
The praise of the feet
I am a Black woman