My child collects silk flower petals
Carries them in his small chubby hands
Places them in my palms
And gasps as he watches me blow them away.
Frantically, he gathers and carries,
Watching for a chance
To use what he holds.
Today I saw him
Find a chip in the paint of a wounded wall
He pressed the petals to it with expectation
And I saw a world where
We carry hope
And press it into the cracks of damaged hearts
Until all we see
Is a home
Made of blooming life
Imagine a little girl, dark wispy hair, big gray eyes. She dances in a black velvet tutu across every part of her life. There is joy in the ...
"Thank God my son is white." Is not a phrase anyone wants to utter. But, God forgive me, I have. In the back of my mind U...
I joke a lot about how I can't say certain things because I "have a reputation to uphold." The people who know me best know th...
Only once have I outright written anything about infertility. A few years ago, a friend of mine asked me if my five-year experience with i...