Poetic Personal Catalog
I have this memory; it’s more tied to a scent than a visual memory I hold. It’s so simple I may not have recalled it at all if I didn’t fall in love with this Hello Kitty hand lotion I found like a diamond in the rough
Poetic Personal Catalog
She passed in the year of 2020 still alone, her French quieted. Her story remained unbeknownst to her, maybe even her mother, not knowing why they hid their language, not knowing why they had layers of shame undefined by acknowledgment. She passed in the year of 2020, still alone, her
Poetic Personal Catalog
Through various stages of destruction, I watched my sister’s addiction grow—to the point that she hit our Nana. An unexpected phone call came at work from a police officer I knew from high school: “Kris, can you get here now? It’s bad. Your sister hit your Nana.
Poetic Personal Catalog
We took our time saying our goodbyes— first, to the moments tied to seasons we both knew we wouldn’t see pass again. Then to the toys that no longer held your interest, or that the pain and fading energy wouldn’t allow. Then slowly, to our daily rituals, the
Poetic Personal Catalog
There is a lineage of yoga that saved my life. An introduction that came more than once. First it came through friendly offering—seemingly— the practice came in solitude, a trio of distribution, but I resisted what I viewed as illusion. Sister Renee, on her mission to save the day,
Poetic Personal Catalog
They called her Bayou Betty She got mad Answered back, “I’mma city cat” Concrete under my pads I’m from New Orleans I know about architecture And this and that
Poetic Personal Catalog
She is a rescue — but as many have said before, she has rescued me as much as I have her. She welcomed me in Louisiana. She scouted my land in Alabama. She teaches me steady boundaries, relentless self-care, and how to follow the rhythm of the day, not the time
Poetic Personal Catalog
I looked to the floor, to the door — where you stood no more. Bright then, in the den, you asked why it was I couldn’t do this before. I said, I am not sure — I must have needed more to pull forth this softening and pour in once more.
Poetic Personal Catalog
I exist in the liminal space, the spots the clock sought to erase. Nothing here has the same taste. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this pace. I stare into the sky, questioning— is there even outer space?
Poetic Personal Catalog
I called her Ling Ling; it was an inside joke with the root long forgotten, and we just accepted its cultural appropriation and leaned into it, as most offensive New Englanders do. I was sitting at work, the same desk I occupied from 2009–2014. The year was 2012 when
Poetic Personal Catalog
I stood looking out at the pool, my mind loud with accusation and judgment. You didn’t even use it. Wasted season. Wasted experience. Wasted life. But why? Why was I supposed to use it? Because the seasons said so? Because the calendar dictated it so? Then came the feeling
Poetic Personal Catalog
I watched my mother paint, Concealing covertly — but painting. To cover hate, From a plate of which she never ate. I watched her cover over blue and purple With beige and cream. I watched a woman too afraid to dream. I watched her fake a life She failed to create.