C-L-S

Charcoal 

is our preferred method 

with which to sketch our days 

thick, dark swaths of pigment 

that smear and make their mark 

unapologetically 

The wind brushed across her cheeks, tender. It fluttered her hair and made it stand upright, soft, as the sun caressed its fingers across her arm, both warm and compassionate.

When I was very little, my Mom took me on a trip to Arizona. She was strong back then, a long-time hiker just like my dad was when the two still knew each other.

a fresh white blanket covers the hill.

i press my palms down into the layers.

flakes fall onto my face.

they melt fast but the feeling stays.

vermont is a half-finished poem with all the lines scratched out. 

grandfathers who’ve lived here their whole lives still talk of leaving,