The Writing Journey

To a friend

As I write this post, I am thinking of a dear friend. About two months ago when I told her my plans to attend graduate school in the near future she asked me about my writing. I told her I am on a break for now. But a few weeks after that I started writing poems again. Her prodding helped me work on a handful of poems, some of which I’ll read at a poetry event next month.

I want to tell this dear friend (you know who you are) that your friendship is of infinite value.

It is wonderful to have friends that care about you enough to ask simple questions. You never know where they may lead. Or how you can help another reach for possibilities by being a friend.

It is this simple joy of friendship I want to share with all who read my words today. Continue to be a friend. Ask questions and encourage each other along. The journey of life is much sweeter when we walk together and build those people-connections we share.

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The Writing Journey

Human

I am not made of glass

nor candle sticks

my back is no garden wall of flowers

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Motherhood Matters

6 Months of Motherhood

While Niya naps I am listening to my favourite LDS children’s music and contemplating my blessings. 6 months have passed since I gave birth. 6 amazing, blissful and sometimes stressful months. In both the happy and hard times I’ve seen the hand of the Lord holding me up. I love the humbling and sacred journey only mothers know. I am grateful to be a mom.

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The Writing Journey

Begin Again

I am getting excited about writing again like that time, three years ago, when I started this blog and wrote my first blog post. It felt like a liberation. Back then I was too hungry for self-improvement and success to worry about rejection or the intimidation that a blank page often brings. I just wrote. But last year, around this time, Iowa University sent me a rejection letter in response to my application to their prestigious MFA in Creative Writing programme.

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Uncategorized

In Stillness of the Night

The lights are out

for the first time since my return to Jamaica.

Suddenly I can hear the insects

singing in the night. The stillness

is frightening

and yet I can feel

my heart no longer a distant drum.

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They Say I Have Spoilt You

You have cried for too long

i swoop in, my arms under you

put you against the pillow

of my breasts, thinking “i am a bad mother”

you do not care as you stare

suckle, breathe, sleep.

They say i have spoilt you

You are too used to my arms,

the scent of rose-water breast milk,

the sound of me breathing too close

beside you. They say i am suffering from “new mother syndrome”

you do not care as you stare

snuggle, breathe, sleep.

window view
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Park City: The Perfect Place to Write

There are snow-dusted mountains, blue skies that stretch on and on… Our neighbours have eyes, and hands and faces we never see… All around us is the quiet in the air, the sunlight, the snow-fluff that glows bright in the daytime. Perhaps after writing I’ll walk up the mountains again, go beyond the sauna-filled resorts where strangers ski down white slopes, snap more pictures so you can see what Park City looks like. Perhaps I’ll tell you how I got here — this beautiful, perfect place to write and to dream.

Continue reading “Park City: The Perfect Place to Write”