Let my skeleton bones lie naked- pure and white in the glow of an effervescent moon.
A poem and call to courageous acts of community connection
Welcome. If you’re new here, I’m a writer, new mama, and grieving daughter, exploring what it means to fully embrace the creative messiness of life. I share whole-hearted, weekly reflections to help us remember our shared humanity. Thank you for your presence here. 💞
Hello.
I’ve just come in from sitting on the porch in the morning sun, a chill in my fingers as I type. The sky is that rich, October blue, with a depth I notice specifically at this time of year. I am leaning into autumn with my full body, a settling of my bones, a softening of muscle tension relief while I give into the gravity of this season full of grace.
I notice it in the way my breath has changed, deepening into my belly, a newfound awareness of all the times I’m not breathing, holding my heart back from that inevitable posture of surrender. And yet, there’s a lightness to this season, too.
Permission to unfold, sink in, wrap up.
This week, I received the good news that after almost a year of submitting my poetry to literary journals, my poem “Falta,” will be published in an upcoming edition of Poetry South. Another poem, “Ancestors” will be included in a project by Sarah Shotts of
and others called “Entwined: Motherhood and Creativity.” I will keep you posted on both as they near publication!Finally, Prasunjit arrived home last Sunday, after a month of separation. To say I am overflowing with gratitude would be an understatement. I went on a cloudy evening run yesterday and when I came home the house smelled of homemade curry and echoed with laughter and Noah’s pitter-patter feet, running to greet me. Heaven.
How are you, Dear One? How is your body, your breath, your heart? What are you sinking into or wrapping up with?
I was inspired to share a poem with you after reading
’s recent letter, a meditation on leaving one way and falling into another. In her letter, she asks, “Is falling not love?”
I wrote “When I Die” several autumns ago, after lying on my back under a Maple tree dripping with red, a sky of sapphire above. At the time, I had no idea my father would pass away just a few months later. Death was on my mind a lot that season, maybe a way for my spirit to prepare me for that inevitable loss.
Yet, this poem about dying is actually a celebration song. A recognition of the ways we are connected. Not separate from the whole, but part of it.
It’s an invitation to return, surrender, and delight in the falling.
His birthday was this week, October 18th. In honor of his death but more importantly his life— this one’s for you, Papa.
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