The clouds are purple blotted ink across a canvas sky,
the sunset fades from orange to yellow;
And we sit with my face resting on your leg
both of us watching and you talking about
how we should keep our water covered at night and only speak kind words.
I agree, and hope to live in this moment a bit longer as the sun hides behind the silhouette of the mountain outside our bedroom window.
Prose Memoir Chapter 9
It’s not dawn officially, but the sky glows a dark bright blue. The cat came to me for scratches, lifting her back against my fingers and leaving fine fur hairs beneath my nails, I checked on you before placing my pod in the coffee maker. I’m up early, which means there’s no excuse not to practice some yoga today. I’ll start with some mindfulness. A deep breath, stand by the door to let the cat out, cool air streaming in while counting birds chirping.
Although I have this restless excitement to wake you up at dawn, I will let you sleep today. You have a rough little snore and you’re tired to the bone. And as I sit here, typing these messages as a love poem to you on my phone, I begin to reflect. You made it a surprise yesterday where we were going for dinner, two sandwiches from Millie’s and a drive up the mountain to beneath the pavilion.
In a world of countless hearts, you are one in a million, Jay–
that shows itself in everyday ways.
for the care you give so freely
for sitting beside me at the doctor’s office
like it was exactly where you meant to be.
When I’m home and you’re at work,
and the hours stretch a little too blue,
your cat curls close like a promise–
a small part of you showing through.
And I tell you in those quiet moments,
as you settle in warm and true,
that one day when your steps grow slower
I’ll be the one to take care of you too.
She grows softer with the years–
morning light rests on her shoulders.
Her hair falls as it wishes now,
no longer held too tightly in place,
and her eyes speak clearer truths
with less need for shadow or line.
She wears her comfort like a quiet crown–
a ponytail that sways with her laughter,
unbothered by who may be watching.
In the mornings, there is coffee–
steam rising between her and the day,
her mug claiming. “I’m the Boss”
while the house hums in it’s familiar rhythm. She speaks her mind now,
but with fewer apologies left behind.
Regret has loosened its grip on her voice.
She moves love in small, sacred ways
curling Mary’s hair with careful hands,
carrying tenderness like it’s second nature.
There is still dreaming in her bones–
plans sketched between sips of coffee,
gardens waiting beneath her fingertips,
spring rising wherever she stands.
She is laughter edged with mischief,
And time, though it brushes past her,
leaving only silver whispers and stories in her wake.
I will grow into a life like hers–
where love is shown in the smallest moments
My Dad has softened with time-
like a storm that learned how to rest,
like hands that once carried everything
now learning how to hold gently.
The moments I set with him feel heavier now,
not in weight, but in meaning.
Because I see what they cost him–
the long hours, the quiet sacrifices,
the way he gives his life away in pieces
He has a patience that feels endless,
a love that was never owed to me,
even when I filled our lives with shadows.
Unspoken words, spoken through body language,
wandering the depths of our own subconscious
The cat stretches, let’s out a soft meow
We’ve both been struggling with thoughts of addiction-
but thoughts are just thoughts so we’ll leave it at that.
Listen to your raspy, deep breaths through your nose.
My hand on your soft skin sends an
electric tingle to my fingertips. The cat is
curled up between our feet. I’m thinking you
are the best person for me. You are a blessing,
not just luck. We woke each other up earlier
this morning and had a small conversation about dreaming.
I was searching for you in my dream and had to wake up and scoot close to you as a reminder that you were there in my sleep. So I spoon you back and glide my fingers through your hair.
Or the memory has began to fade
Should we aim to remake your memory?
Grandma remembers to laugh, never misses a smile,
But she’s forgotten how to write her own name,
It’s better to move onward without shame and to recognize other things that make us happy other than if she remembers our face and name or not.
She never misses a chance at making you smile, she always has time for a visit, my grandma was there for me through my hardest times fighting addiction. She took me in off of the street and took me in warm and lovingly.
We have a lot of good memories that Ill try to always hold dear to me.
Will my mind recognize my soul as an individual and identify with that personality?
Or is my mind working more as a collection, kind of like Gaia in theory?
Am I many or am I one? Ancient archaic or am I word just barely spoken and newly
Sister— we share our vivid dreams and connect together on the astral plane. Anything unresolved, we are building the new and re-c
Unspoken words, spoken through body language,
wandering the depths of our own subconscious
The cat stretches, let’s out a soft meow
We’ve both been struggling with thoughts of addiction-
but thoughts are just thoughts so we’ll leave it at that.
Listen to your raspy, deep breaths through your nose.
My hand on your soft skin sends an
electric tingle to my fingertips. The cat is
curled up between our feet. I’m thinking you
are the best person for me. You are a blessing,
not just luck. We woke each other up earlier
this morning and had a small conversation about dreaming.
I was searching for you in my dream and had to wake up and scoot close to you as a reminder that you were there in my sleep. So I spoon you back and glide my fingers through your hair.
Or the memory has began to fade
Should we aim to remake your memory?
Grandma remembers to laugh, never misses a smile,
But she’s forgotten how to write her own name,
It’s better to move onward without shame and to recognize other things that make us happy other than if she remembers our face and name or not.
She never misses a chance at making you smile, she always has time for a visit, my grandma was there for me through my hardest times fighting addiction. She took me in off of the street and took me in warm and lovingly.
We have a lot of good memories that Ill try to always hold dear to me.
Will my mind recognize my soul as an individual and identify with that personality?
Or is my mind working more as a collection, kind of like Gaia in theory?
Unspoken words, spoken through body language,
wandering the depths of our own subconscious
The cat stretches, let’s out a soft meow
We’ve both been struggling with thoughts of addiction-
but thoughts are just thoughts so we’ll leave it at that.
Listen to your raspy, deep breaths through your nose.
My hand on your soft skin sends an
electric tingle to my fingertips. The cat is
curled up between our feet. I’m thinking you
are the best person for me. You are a blessing,
not just luck. We woke each other up earlier
this morning and had a small conversation about dreaming.
I was searching for you in my dream and had to wake up and scoot close to you as a reminder that you were there in my sleep. So I spoon you back and glide my fingers through your hair.
Or the memory has began to fade
Should we aim to remake your memory?
Grandma remembers to laugh, never misses a smile,
But she’s forgotten how to write her own name,
It’s better to move onward without shame and to recognize other things that make us happy other than if she remembers our face and name or not.
She never misses a chance at making you smile, she always has time for a visit, my grandma was there for me through my hardest times fighting addiction. She took me in off of the street and took me in warm and lovingly.
We have a lot of good memories that Ill try to always hold dear to me.
Will my mind recognize my soul as an individual and identify with that personality?
Or is my mind working more as a collection, kind of like Gaia in theory?
Am I many or am I one? Ancient archaic or am I word just barely spoken and newly
Sister— we share our vivid dreams and connect together on the astral plane. Anything unresolved, we are building the new and re-creating the old. You are like a guiding light and have a heart of gold. Ever since you said, “I don’t want to see you when you’re high,” I took it to heart and remembered it the day you saved my life.
My life used to trickle through, moments dispersing; they could form a river.
Now I’m with you, and it feels like our time is carried away in a single gust of wind,
The way we vibe and sync together
makes it seem like we’re time traveling through the future–
like sand grains through an hourglass.
Am I many or am I one? Ancient archaic or am I word just barely spoken and newly
Sister— we share our vivid dreams and connect together on the astral plane. Anything unresolved, we are building the new and re-creating the old. You are like a guiding light and have a heart of gold. Ever since you said, “I don’t want to see you when you’re high,” I took it to heart and remembered it the day you saved my life.
My life used to trickle through, moments dispersing; they could form a river.
Now I’m with you, and it feels like our time is carried away in a single gust of wind,
The way we vibe and sync together
makes it seem like we’re time traveling through the future–
like sand grains through an hour glass
Unspoken words, spoken through body language,
wandering the depths of our own subconscious
The cat stretches, let’s out a soft meow
We’ve both been struggling with thoughts of addiction-
but thoughts are just thoughts so we’ll leave it at that.
Listen to your raspy, deep breaths through your nose.
My hand on your soft skin sends an
electric tingle to my fingertips. The cat is
curled up between our feet. I’m thinking you
are the best person for me. You are a blessing,
not just luck. We woke each other up earlier
this morning and had a small conversation about dreaming.
I was searching for you in my dream and had to wake up and scoot close to you as a reminder that you were there in my sleep. So I spoon you back and glide my fingers through your hair.
Or the memory has began to fade
Should we aim to remake your memory?
Grandma remembers to laugh, never misses a smile,
But she’s forgotten how to write her own name,
It’s better to move onward without shame and to recognize other things that make us happy other than if she remembers our face and name or not.
She never misses a chance at making you smile, she always has time for a visit, my grandma was there for me through my hardest times fighting addiction. She took me in off of the street and took me in warm and lovingly.
We have a lot of good memories that Ill try to always hold dear to me.
Will my mind recognize my soul as an individual and identify with that personality?
Or is my mind working more as a collection, kind of like Gaia in theory?
Am I many or am I one? Ancient archaic or am I word just barely spoken and newly
Sister— we share our vivid dreams and connect together on the astral plane. Anything unresolved, we are building the new and re-c
Unspoken words, spoken through body language,
wandering the depths of our own subconscious
The cat stretches, let’s out a soft meow
We’ve both been struggling with thoughts of addiction-
but thoughts are just thoughts so we’ll leave it at that.
Listen to your raspy, deep breaths through your nose.
My hand on your soft skin sends an
electric tingle to my fingertips. The cat is
curled up between our feet. I’m thinking you
are the best person for me. You are a blessing,
not just luck. We woke each other up earlier
this morning and had a small conversation about dreaming.
I was searching for you in my dream and had to wake up and scoot close to you as a reminder that you were there in my sleep. So I spoon you back and glide my fingers through your hair.
Or the memory has began to fade
Should we aim to remake your memory?
Grandma remembers to laugh, never misses a smile,
But she’s forgotten how to write her own name,
It’s better to move onward without shame and to recognize other things that make us happy other than if she remembers our face and name or not.
She never misses a chance at making you smile, she always has time for a visit, my grandma was there for me through my hardest times fighting addiction. She took me in off of the street and took me in warm and lovingly.
We have a lot of good memories that Ill try to always hold dear to me.
Will my mind recognize my soul as an individual and identify with that personality?
Or is my mind working more as a collection, kind of like Gaia in theory?
Unspoken words, spoken through body language,
wandering the depths of our own subconscious
The cat stretches, let’s out a soft meow
We’ve both been struggling with thoughts of addiction-
but thoughts are just thoughts so we’ll leave it at that.
Listen to your raspy, deep breaths through your nose.
My hand on your soft skin sends an
electric tingle to my fingertips. The cat is
curled up between our feet. I’m thinking you
are the best person for me. You are a blessing,
not just luck. We woke each other up earlier
this morning and had a small conversation about dreaming.
I was searching for you in my dream and had to wake up and scoot close to you as a reminder that you were there in my sleep. So I spoon you back and glide my fingers through your hair.
Or the memory has began to fade
Should we aim to remake your memory?
Grandma remembers to laugh, never misses a smile,
But she’s forgotten how to write her own name,
It’s better to move onward without shame and to recognize other things that make us happy other than if she remembers our face and name or not.
She never misses a chance at making you smile, she always has time for a visit, my grandma was there for me through my hardest times fighting addiction. She took me in off of the street and took me in warm and lovingly.
We have a lot of good memories that Ill try to always hold dear to me.
Will my mind recognize my soul as an individual and identify with that personality?
Or is my mind working more as a collection, kind of like Gaia in theory?
Am I many or am I one? Ancient archaic or am I word just barely spoken and newly
Sister— we share our vivid dreams and connect together on the astral plane. Anything unresolved, we are building the new and re-creating the old. You are like a guiding light and have a heart of gold. Ever since you said, “I don’t want to see you when you’re high,” I took it to heart and remembered it the day you saved my life.
My life used to trickle through, moments dispersing; they could form a river.
Now I’m with you, and it feels like our time is carried away in a single gust of wind,
The way we vibe and sync together
makes it seem like we’re time traveling through the future–
like sand grains through an hourglass.
Am I many or am I one? Ancient archaic or am I word just barely spoken and newly
Sister— we share our vivid dreams and connect together on the astral plane. Anything unresolved, we are building the new and re-creating the old. You are like a guiding light and have a heart of gold. Ever since you said, “I don’t want to see you when you’re high,” I took it to heart and remembered it the day you saved my life.
My life used to trickle through, moments dispersing; they could form a river.
Now I’m with you, and it feels like our time is carried away in a single gust of wind,
The way we vibe and sync together
makes it seem like we’re time traveling through the future–
like sand grains through an hourglass. Creating the old. You are like a guiding light and have a heart of gold. Ever since you said, “I don’t want to see you when you’re high,” I took it to heart and remembered it the day you saved my life.
My life used to trickle through, moments dispersing; they could form a river.
Now I’m with you, and it feels like our time is carried away in a single gust of wind,
The way we vibe and sync together
makes it seem like we’re time traveling through the future–
Like sand grains through an hourglass. Hourglass. Creating the old. You are like a guiding light and have a heart of gold. Ever since you said, “I don’t want to see you when you’re high,” I took it to heart and remembered it the day you saved my life.
Unspoken words, spoken through body language,
wandering the depths of our own subconscious
The cat stretches, let’s out a soft meow
We’ve both been struggling with thoughts of addiction-
but thoughts are just thoughts so we’ll leave it at that.
Listen to your raspy, deep breaths through your nose.
My hand on your soft skin sends an
electric tingle to my fingertips. The cat is
curled up between our feet. I’m thinking you
are the best person for me. You are a blessing,
not just luck. We woke each other up earlier
this morning and had a small conversation about dreaming.
I was searching for you in my dream and had to wake up and scoot close to you as a reminder that you were there in my sleep. So I spoon you back and glide my fingers through your hair.
Or the memory has began to fade
Should we aim to remake your memory?
Grandma remembers to laugh, never misses a smile,
But she’s forgotten how to write her own name,
It’s better to move onward without shame and to recognize other things that make us happy other than if she remembers our face and name or not.
She never misses a chance at making you smile, she always has time for a visit, my grandma was there for me through my hardest times fighting addiction. She took me in off of the street and took me in warm and lovingly.
We have a lot of good memories that Ill try to always hold dear to me.
Will my mind recognize my soul as an individual and identify with that personality?
Or is my mind working more as a collection, kind of like Gaia in theory?
Am I many or am I one? Ancient archaic or am I word just barely spoken and newly
Sister— we share our vivid dreams and connect together on the astral plane. Anything unresolved, we are building the new and re-c
Unspoken words, spoken through body language,
wandering the depths of our own subconscious
The cat stretches, let’s out a soft meow
We’ve both been struggling with thoughts of addiction-
but thoughts are just thoughts so we’ll leave it at that.
Listen to your raspy, deep breaths through your nose.
My hand on your soft skin sends an
electric tingle to my fingertips. The cat is
curled up between our feet. I’m thinking you
are the best person for me. You are a blessing,
not just luck. We woke each other up earlier
this morning and had a small conversation about dreaming.
I was searching for you in my dream and had to wake up and scoot close to you as a reminder that you were there in my sleep. So I spoon you back and glide my fingers through your hair.
Or the memory has began to fade
Should we aim to remake your memory?
Grandma remembers to laugh, never misses a smile,
But she’s forgotten how to write her own name,
It’s better to move onward without shame and to recognize other things that make us happy other than if she remembers our face and name or not.
She never misses a chance at making you smile, she always has time for a visit, my grandma was there for me through my hardest times fighting addiction. She took me in off of the street and took me in warm and lovingly.
We have a lot of good memories that Ill try to always hold dear to me.
Will my mind recognize my soul as an individual and identify with that personality?
Or is my mind working more as a collection, kind of like Gaia in theory?
Unspoken words, spoken through body language,
wandering the depths of our own subconscious
The cat stretches, let’s out a soft meow
We’ve both been struggling with thoughts of addiction-
but thoughts are just thoughts so we’ll leave it at that.
Listen to your raspy, deep breaths through your nose.
My hand on your soft skin sends an
electric tingle to my fingertips. The cat is
curled up between our feet. I’m thinking you
are the best person for me. You are a blessing,
not just luck. We woke each other up earlier
this morning and had a small conversation about dreaming.
I was searching for you in my dream and had to wake up and scoot close to you as a reminder that you were there in my sleep. So I spoon you back and glide my fingers through your hair.
Or the memory has began to fade
Should we aim to remake your memory?
Grandma remembers to laugh, never misses a smile,
But she’s forgotten how to write her own name,
It’s better to move onward without shame and to recognize other things that make us happy other than if she remembers our face and name or not.
She never misses a chance at making you smile, she always has time for a visit, my grandma was there for me through my hardest times fighting addiction. She took me in off of the street and took me in warm and lovingly.
We have a lot of good memories that Ill try to always hold dear to me.
Will my mind recognize my soul as an individual and identify with that personality?
Or is my mind working more as a collection, kind of like Gaia in theory?
Am I many or am I one? Ancient archaic or am I word just barely spoken and newly
Sister— we share our vivid dreams and connect together on the astral plane. Anything unresolved, we are building the new and re-creating the old. You are like a guiding light and have a heart of gold. Ever since you said, “I don’t want to see you when you’re high,” I took it to heart and remembered it the day you saved my life.
My life used to trickle through, moments dispersing; they could form a river.
Now I’m with you, and it feels like our time is carried away in a single gust of wind,
The way we vibe and sync together
makes it seem like we’re time traveling through the future–
like sand grains through an hourglass.
Am I many or am I one? Ancient archaic or am I word just barely spoken and newly
Sister— we share our vivid dreams and connect together on the astral plane. Anything unresolved, we are building the new and re-creating the old. You are like a guiding light and have a heart of gold. Ever since you said, “I don’t want to see you when you’re high,” I took it to heart and remembered it the day you saved my life.
My life used to trickle through, moments dispersing; they could form a river.
Now I’m with you, and it feels like our time is carried away in a single gust of wind,
The way we vibe and sync together
makes it seem like we’re time traveling through the future–
like sand grains through an hourglass. You are like a guiding light and have a heart of gold. Ever since you said, “I don’t want to see you when you’re high,” I took it to heart and remembered it the day you saved my life.
My life used to trickle through, moments dispersing; they could form a river.
Now I’m with you, and it feels like our time is carried away in a single gust of wind,
The way we vibe and sync together
makes it seem like we’re time traveling through the future–
like sand grains through an hourglass.
My life used to trickle through, moments dispersing; they could form a river.
Now I’m with you, and it feels like our time is carried away in a single gust of wind,
The way we vibe and sync together
makes it seem like we’re time traveling through the future–
like sand grains through an hourglass.
I brush my lips against her ear and whisper, “I love you.”
Her fur carries that dusty, fresh earth-scent– like sun-warmed
dirt and quiet adventures, like she’s been threading herself
through fields and slipping beneath
trailers collecting the day in her coat. It clings to her in a way
She breaths softly. Steady, grounded.
Jay’s hand rests in mine, warm and silky, the fine lines
mapping out years of living I don’t need explained.
My thumb traces them absentmindedly, like reading something
familiar in a language I already understand.
My spirit knows you now, and my soul will know you again. In another lifetime, our fingertips will touch—and the same spark will answer.
I never want the memories we’ve created together to fade—the quiet moments, the laughter, the way time seemed to soften around us. Maybe in another lifetime, we’ll meet again on a different level, carrying with us everything we learned, everything we endured, everything we loved in this one.
And somehow, our story will find its way back to itself—pieced together like a masterpiece we’ve been shaping all along.
From sunlit picnics to slow weekends in bed… from wandering through gardens with my son to the warmth of family and familiar faces—we’ve built something real. Something that doesn’t just disappear.
I believe we’ll find each other again, and when we do, we’ll recognize it instantly—like something unfinished finally continuing, like a spark that never really went out.
Take me back to moments of last year. With the cool breeze through the canyon, the trees whispering around our shoulders, the stars peaking at us through the trees and the rain still sleek on the blades of grass
You and I are both whole on our own, and yet somehow, when we are together, you feel like my other half. Since the day I met you, I’ve felt more complete—like I move through the world with a deeper sense of steadiness. Maybe it’s not that I was ever incomplete, but that you care for me in the ways I sometimes don’t know how to care for myself.
I’m grateful to have you in my life, and for the way we seem to meet even in our dreams—like our connection exists beyond just the waking world. With you, I feel loved, accepted, and seen on every level.
I’m writing this in the hope that you feel it too.
The three of us pause at the first sign—a map of the gardens.
Jay suggests we wander between the medicinal and the herbal paths.
As we walk, B reads each placard, trying to keep up.
So we slow down, letting the pace soften.
It’s our fourth time here, but Bridger’s first day at Red Butte Garden.
We’ve waited over a year to bring him.
Jay and Bridger point out giant bumblebees hovering over dome-shaped flowers.
I bend down, zooming in, trying to catch their movement.
We take the staircase up—Jay showing Bridger the vines, and the place we once stood, looking out over the valley.
Then, almost at the same time, they both point—a butterfly—
but it’s gone too quickly for me to line up the shot.
The start of summer, the crest of spring.
like an artist’s sponge painting.
Fluorescent purple petals scatter
along the edge of the gravel road.
A few red-breasted birds follow,
keeping pace as we move forward.
I’m starting a new job within a week or two.
I hope things start going better for us.
I hope one day it will be work it,
Maybe we’ll wake at the crack of dawn,
you starting coffee in the camaper,
listening to birds and echoing their song
Maybe I’ll have a fw more years
of cooking outdoor meals under my belt,
and I’ll join you to start breakfast
letting the sounds settle into me,
We’ll come together when life asks it of us,
and move alone when we need to-
Jay and I were stargazing last night when, all
at once, a white flash split open the sky.
It appeared suddenly at the center, like a
heartbeat skipping in the dark, then vanished
just as quickly. You said something I couldn’t
quite catch before two more flashes followed
–brief, bright, and electric against the
deepening blue, like distant stars winking in a secret language we almost understood.
We turned to each other at the same time,
eyes wide and you laughed softly, saying
we might have just seen UFOs. The word hung
between us, playful and possible. My mind
drifted back to the story you once told me
how the sky lit up with the letters of your
name, as if the universe itself had called out to you.
“Well, this is the first time we’ve seen one together.” You said.
Below us, the fire crackled and popped, its
flames curling and flicking like the tongue of a serpent tasting the night air.. The warmth
reached just beneath my gaze, grounding us
as everything above felt vast and unknowable.
Then, slowly, our conversation fell away again,
not from lack, but from fullness.
We sat in the quiet, letting the meadow hold
us. Dandelions caught the last night at the canyon’s edge, glowing softly like
scattered embers in the grass. As the sun slipped away,
moments, our laughter– gathering them gently
before letting them drift back into words.
And somewhere above us, the sky remained open, endless, and listening.
And then, as we were leaving in the car,
darkness drinking up the view behind us, you
explained that the lights on a plane are a form of communication– that out there, even in the
open sky, nothing travels without speaking.
You told me I’d find the same language on the water, how the lights on a boat flicker like
a kind of morse code, guiding one another
home as people on land answer back
I held that thought turning it over between the sky and the sea- how traveling through space
must feel like drifting between scattered constellations of meaning, while crossing
the ocean is like slipping through a vast, breathing unknown, both paths lit by fragile
And it made me realize: finding my way with you feels like that too– like being guided through darkness by something small but certain, like a distant light blinking just for me,
steady as a heartbeat, soft as a whisper,
constant as the tide pulling me safely to shore.
The night folded itself around us softly when we came home from the canyon, like it knew we had carried something sacred back with us. It was just after nine- the air still holding the last warmth of the day, the sky deepening into that quiet blue where everything feels possible. When we stepped outside to feed the stray cat, the moon was full and rising, slow and watchful, as if it had been waiting for us.
We moved through the small rituals- checking the mail, brushing past each other, laughing quietly– before collapsing into bed, where time blurred and softened for an hour that felt playful and infinite.
Eventually sleep found us the way it always does: gently like a tide pulling us under.
But sometime in the night, I woke into something else.
You were theree beside me– awake or maybe just present in that in- between space– and I was no longer entirely inside myself. I felt it fist as a lightness, like my body had loosened it’s grip on gravity. Then I saw it: myself, rising. Hovering. Swaying in the air above us like a slow pendulum, weightless and quiet.
I drifted past you, not bound by the bed or the room or anything solid. Just movement. Just breath,
As I returned, our fingertips found each other- not clumsily, not by chance, but with intention, like something older than us had guided it. Your hand met mine, and suddenly we weren’t seperate anymore, We were suspended together, just above the mattress, gently spinning in that soft impossible space.
We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to.
It’s your regular day off and you woke up around two this morning
Surfing on your phone reading the news and watching video shorts
Then I had some blueberry coffee with almond vanilla creamer while you fell
Breathing rhythmically and softly
The daylight streaming in from both windows
Our plants drinking up the rays
You are curled up in a blanket and I’m
thinking about kissing your soft full lips.
You and I being and doing are God’s
As we see things we give a point of view
When we love it’s the universe manifesting
Hints of raspberry linger on my tongue and outside the window the chimes sing their sweet and bold melody. Jay’s at the kitchen sink and I hopped into bed so that I can catch him before he begins to rest without me. It’s a slow start day. Jay has to work later so I’m going to enjoy the last few hours with him
strange moments that resist words,
This mother’s day I got to celebrate with the son who
made me a mom, my parents and sister that help make that possible and it’s
important that my son still wants me in his life after mistakes I made.
My mom was happy and looked beautiful. My grandma was grateful for the
photos we got her, put her necklace on.
My mom shared my poem with my sister. I’m grateful to have her as my mom and that
she let me be an older sister. I’m grateful that Violet also made this possible and gave
me siblings across the U.S. too. This year I’m especially grateful that my boyfriend Jay who accepts and loves my family and that my family knows he’s right for me shared these moments with us and he gave me a camera to save some memories.
Grandma, it’s Mother’s Day and I’ve been thinking of you all morning. In a week or two I’ll finally get to see you again, and until then I wanted to make this poetry about you—to let the rhythm carry the gratitude resonating in my heart.
I’m grateful my parents adopted me, and that you and Grandpa welcomed me into the family so completely, as if my place beside you had always been waiting.
You celebrated our birthdays, our adoption days, bringing Shelby and me little charms that made us feel chosen over and over again.
I remember the mindful afternoons—tiny teacups of coffee, quiet conversations, the comfort of simply being near you.
I remember visiting you at work for Grandparents Day, feeling proud that you were mine.
You brightened my life with your laughter and warm smile. When I was sick, you’d pull out the medical encyclopedia, reassuring me I would heal, making fear feel smaller.
You brought me a teddy bear and bunny on one of those hard days, and somehow your kindness made the whole room softer.
When school became overwhelming and I struggled to believe in myself, you encouraged me to keep going, to work hard, to graduate. If not for you, I would not have walked with my class.
You took me in during difficult seasons, encouraged me through college, and showed me what bravery looked like—a woman who survived hardships in childhood yet still chose kindness, still chose love, still chose family.
You helped me rebuild relationships with Mom, Dad, my sister, and my son.
You helped restore connection where life had worn it thin.
And with my son, you have always been magic. From the days he giggled in your arms as a baby to the afternoons spent playing checkers at your dining room table, you’ve helped him grow confident, joyful, and loved.
You created warmth out of ordinary moments—Thanksgiving dinners, Christmas gatherings, The family coming together around your table like it was the safest place in the world.
Now when you’re in St. George and I’m in Tooele, you are the person I miss most.
And today, especially, I just want you to know this: so much of the love in my life has roots that lead back to you.
Grandma, it’s Mother’s Day and I’ve been thinking of you all morning.
In a week or two I’ll finally get to see you again, and until then I wanted to make this poetry about you—to let the rhythm carry the gratitude resonating in my heart.
I’m grateful my parents adopted me, and that you and Grandpa welcomed me into the family so completely, as if my place beside you had always been waiting.
You celebrated our birthdays, our adoption days, bringing Shelby and me little charms that made us feel chosen over and over again.
I remember the mindful afternoons—tiny teacups of coffee, quiet conversations,
The comfort of simply being near you.
I remember visiting you at work for Grandparents Day, feeling proud that you were mine.
You brightened my life with your laughter and warm smile. When I was sick, you’d pull out the medical encyclopedia, reassuring me I would heal, making fear feel smaller.
You brought me a teddy bear and bunny on one of those hard days, and somehow your kindness made the whole room softer.
When school became overwhelming and I struggled to believe in myself, you encouraged me to keep going, to work hard, to graduate. If not for you, I would not have walked with my class.
You took me in during difficult seasons, encouraged me through college, and showed me what bravery looked like—a woman who survived hardships in childhood yet still chose kindness, still chose love, still chose family.
You helped me rebuild relationships with Mom, Dad, my sister, and my son. You helped restore connection where life had worn it thin.
And with my son, you have always been magic. From the days he giggled in your arms as a baby to the afternoons spent playing checkers at your dining room table, you’ve helped him grow confident, joyful, and loved.
You created warmth out of ordinary moments—Thanksgiving dinners, Christmas gatherings, the family coming together around your table like it was the safest place in the world.
Now when you’re in St. George and I’m in Tooele, you are the person I miss most.
And today, especially,I just want you to know this:so much of the love in my lifehas roots that lead back to you.
It’s mother’s day grandma and Im thinking of you. I am reflecting on our visit yesterday where you met us with love and gratitude. I felt so happy and comfortable listening to your stories, they are like a mindful meditation and reflection of you. I take your words with me and imagine you in your youth, walking home bravely, working hard, and falling in love with grandpa. Im grateful that you and my mom have a relationship and that you appreciate my dad too. You made ouf visit worth every minute yesterday anx I look forward to each moment I get to spend with you in joy.
Mother’s Day, Grandma,and I’ve been thinking of you.
I’ve been reflecting on our visit yesterday—the way you met us with love and gratitude,making every moment feel warm and meaningful.
I felt so happy and comfortablesitting beside you, listening to your stories.The way you speak is like a mindful meditation,a gentle reflection of who you are.
I carry your words with me afterward,imagining you in your youth—walking home bravely,working hard,falling in love with Grandpa,building a life through strength, patience, and heart.
I’m grateful for the relationship you share with my mom, and for the appreciation and love you’ve always shown my dad too.
You have a way of making people feel valued, of making family feel close and connected, even in the quietest moments.
Yesterday was worth every minute, and I look forward to every visit, every story, every laugh, and every joyful moment I get to spend with you.
Little Bit’s little pitter pattern pawprints rhythmically pulse against the floor. It’s time for zooming. Her eyes big, her grin creased. She’s on one side of the room and now the other. Outdoors, she jumps over the window in the door and five minutes later she’s hopping through that window with more pitter patter as she brushes her tail across my knee and settles down by my feet.
It’s another morning. Jay is asleep.
Lil Bit is curled with her tail tucked beneath her paws, beneath my feet.
The heather breathes it’s steady flow of warmth against my back.
Jay’s snore drifts softly from the other room.
The windows are open
Sunlight spills in while cool air wanders through
making the curtains stir like slow waves.
I texted with my dad
He said he and my mom watched that movie last night,
I’ve been sitting here wondering
if I can shape something worth reading aloud–
something lyrical, something that moves like music,
But nothing creative settles long enough to stay.
Yesterday Jay didn’t have work,
so we filled the hours with episodes of Elsa Rae and Barron,
techno music,
and the small unnameable things that make up a day together.
I tried to begin the story this morning,
but my phone needs charging,
and I still need to connect my writing to the laptop,
The coffee was soothing,
now it carried me toward my daily habit of yoga
I’ll flatten my feet against the mattress and decide whether to rise into mountain pose
or sink into corpse pose
whether to begin with hip flexors or simple breathing
I’m thinking of preparing my body
for flexibility
for mobility,
both bring what I need.
I’ll water the plants first.
I forgot yesterday.
Our little friends are dying of thirst.
I myself will drink a glass of water too, opening myself
to the ritual of another day.
You have blessed me beyond words, he says,
and I know exactly how he feels.
Because no matter how many love notes I write,
or how carefully I recite my feelings into poetry,
the words never quite measure
the way he makes me feel.
Sometimes joyful in the quietness of a moment,
sometimes ecstatic in the thrill of new adventures
content with every morning we wake to
and every evening we close together.
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