Santa Muerte, Beautiful in Red She hands me a sickle all my own, small, handheld, meant for cutting cords.
Tag: Grave
Holy remembrance and devotion to what has passed.
Walking with Her
I first met Santa Muerte when I felt Her presence around me, steady, maternal, and without judgment. From that moment, She has guided me through endings, healing, and transformation.
The Heart’s Tome
I spool around and around, creating from memory a lifeline between You and I.
Each Breath of Being
Queen of Angels, crowned in stars.
Lit From Within
The fire that made her lingers beneath her ribs— an ember never dying, a heart forever lit from within.
The Writer as Exorcist
Writing is an exorcism.
Lessons in Light
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.
Without Measure
I do things because I love to do them.
Two Kittens
Both live in me. One leaps toward passion, the other toward peace.
Petals and Cake
I savor their smooth, enchanting feel as I delicately pull more from the white basket, whispering them through my fingers.
Jasmine on the Grave 