A Poem to my Nephew — Here’s my gift to you, son of my sister, a son that I’ll never have. I cannot wait until you're older and in the same instance I want you to stay young and be innocent —a little while longer. I think to myself and out to the universe: I helped shape…

Prose — I dug into Providence's clutch — pricking my finger, as she joked about some wives’ tale, slicing my hand open on her scissors as I attempted to pull them out. The familiar weight of the blades in my hands— lethal in the wrong ones. Seventeen years to realize the only…

Hybrid Prose Poem Prompt — I am Canadian, but lately, I am not sure what that means. The erratic, hostile energy emanating from my screen — seeping into our homes— let alone from our streets. It’s disheartening. Misinformation throwing stones. I am Canadian but I do not feel Canadian if the media is a reflection…

I’ll write a letter I live in a small town with big hearts, but small minds. Where you could joke that everyone is related to everyone else and it might just be true. …

Wednesday Prose Poem: what’s in a promise? — Inklings left in your heart from a younger you — a fearless you. Promises that were once self-inscribed — the foundation on which you built your life. Where you defined your purpose and then forgot — because all childish things must be laid to rest — the Pan had nothing…

We bought a Sprinter Van — We bought a sprinter van but let’s rewind a bit. Three years ago, I moved back to my hometown where I grew up. My husband and I sold everything, including the house we thought we would retire in. Our house. We moved because my father said he wanted to retire…

Convenience is not worth the cost. — Short-sighted by a world that promises everything — bright screens with endless possibilities. Redacted fine print validated by a check box that we never intended to read but we agreed to nonetheless. Incompetency began here and somehow, I’m riding along. It's too little, too late cause we never checked the…

Prose about Anxiety — A rogue emotion is holding me hostage. It has, for the better part of this life. I am the maestro and I tote a thin line between falling apart and appearing normal constantly. …

A conversation with Providence It’s a fine line to sounding crazy if I exaggerate my life. Fuck, maybe I am. Exaggerating or crazy — maybe both. …