Mandarin Oranges

He peeled the skins from our tiny oranges and handed them over. We marveled at their perfect fit in our paws.

Fae-Word

She whispered it’s in us—an earthly angel, fae-word, always connected to nature, her hum rhythm inside, twinkling, magnetic.

My need for love is holy.

I fought until surrender was all that was left. And now, I like it; it became my deepest desire—to swim.

Writing is an exorcism.

Each room, the lights turned off. It’s habit—a faint closeness, my father’s lesson. I never told him God left them on all night for me.

Both live in me. One leaps toward passion, the other toward peace.

I carry my father still. His absence weighs— a ghost in my chest, sorrow and relief entwined, a delicate dance.

Vibrant blue became our value true. Cornflowers, bachelor’s buttons, trumpet blooms held between our palms, pressed for all their softness.

The hurt still sings— a haunted thing awake in me.