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Although I could never get used to the constant state of anxiety in which the guilty, the great, and the tenderhearted live, I felt I was doing my best in the way of mimicry.

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Natasha Trethewey

What is love?
One name for it is knowledge.

Knowledge, Name, Names, What Is Love
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I think there is a poem out there for everyone, to be an entrance into the poetry and a relationship with it.

Entrance, Entrances, Everyone, Poem, Relationship, Thinking

The act of making poetry is an act of hope.

Act, Hope, Making, Poetry, Poetry Is

My own journey in becoming a poet began with memory - with the need to record and hold on to what was being lost. One of my earliest poems, Give and Take, was about my Aunt Sugar, how I was losing her to her memory loss.

Aunt, Earliest, Hold, Journey, Loss, Memories

The experience of poetry could bring my mother back to me. Poetry offers a different kind of solace - here on earth.

Different, Earth, Kind, Mother, Poetry

First, I emptied the closets of your clothes, threw out the bowl of fruit, bruised from your touch, left empty the jars you bought for preserves. The next morning, birds rustled the fruit trees, and later when I twisted a ripe fig loose from its stem, I found it half eaten, the other side already rotting, or-like another I plucked and split open-being taken from the inside: a swarm of insects hollowing it. I'm too late, again, another space emptied by loss. Tomorrow, the bowl I have yet to fill.

Empty, Fruit, Jars, Loss, Morning, Taken
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