I will not tiptoe in glass slippers when I was made to run with the Sword of Shan Yu.


January 30, 2019

I wanted to bolt back into my burning house and gather up the things I had left behind. I wanted to run back through the front door and be home. But the front door wasn’t a lock with a deadbolt. If it were just a lock with a deadbolt, my adrenaline w...

January 30, 2019

Her story.

It is melted like wax and spreads miles in every direction

where strangers ice skate across what has been blown out

and rewrite her identity—

they, she—are one.

Her story.

It is scarred with wounds old and new

the memories that cycle like tumblew...

January 30, 2019

I have written Warrior Princess about a brave little girl named Jaelyn enrolled at my daycare center. Jaelyn was born with Spina Bifida. In Warrior Princess, she talks about how she is different from other kids. More importantly, she talks about how...

January 30, 2019

I have written this book with my son, Hendrick in mind. Like many children, Hendrick struggles to produce a range of letter sounds and blends. He works with speech pathologists both at school and in therapy and we work together at home and at my dayc...

January 30, 2019

She plans like a winner--

racing faster than the woman on her left

speeding ahead the man on her right

they are now far behind her

mere footprints behind the dust of her own.

She crosses the finish line with her hands waving in the air

like a champ


January 17, 2019

Motherhood doesn’t give a damn about your sleep schedule.

It doesn’t care how heavy your eyes are, or how puffy

the bags beneath them have become or

how long it’s been since you’ve had a full night of sleep

Motherhood has no regard for when your child be...

January 16, 2019

Silence is the loudest sort of noise—

after the body he inhabited took its

last breath and the choirs sing their final note—

when the clapping and wailing fade out before ceasing

silence is the loudest sort of noise

Silence is the loudest sort of noi...

January 6, 2019

My grandfather was a pest. Back when my grandparents had the cottage on Big Whitefish Lake, the grandkids would sleep in bunkbeds in the way back screened-in-porch of a room we called “Camp Mimi Papa.” At bedtime, my grandmother would tell him no les...

January 5, 2019

Some people say death is beautiful.

There is nothing beautiful about washing my dying grandpa,

his floppy skin sticky, smelling like he’s starting to turn.

There’s a certain smell when the body starts to die. And I want to crawl beneath the covers

and ho...

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mommy, author, opera singer, daycare director, person


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