Memory & Childhood

These poems reach back with trembling hands to bruised knees, bedtime prayers and shadows in the wallpaper. Childhood here is both cradle and curse, memory both sanctuary and snare. We write the child we were so we can speak the adult we became.

When the past returns in rhyme and ruin.

Thunderous Trumpets Blew

Hell burned in your gaze while Heaven’s trumpets shook the sky; I kissed your soul as doves lifted grief into starlight.

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