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I am a writer (a vocational declaration of independence)

Writing is therapy. For me anyway. I'm not saying writing has replaced my therapy or even that it compliments therapy. In some ways...

North Lawndale (a love poem and a lament)

You are raw but lovely Worn by time and neglect Weighted down by a hundred burdens Your terrorized eyes sunken Beneath forced Midwest...

DELOCATION

After 16 years, Jen and I are saying goodbye to the neighborhood we have called home, the place where we relocated to come serve...

The True Sources

In order to nourish our souls sometimes we have to move to uncharted waters (emotionally, spiritually, and physically). It's brave and necessary and scary, especially for helpers, to go to those places where we can drink deeply and tend to our own wounds. If we don't, we may find ourselves, after having poured out every last drop for others, drinking from gutters thinking it's a fountain. But if you've found yourself, like me, in places you never thought you'd be, doing thing

Learning to love broken things (a poem)

photo credit: Shutterstock Learning to love broken things I am learning to love broken things Like the beauty of rust that bears witness to epochs past Or the tired barnacles that cling steadfastly to the underbellies of sunken ships To value the signs of aging as patina on antiques rather than as tarnish on time. I am learning to love broken things To accept the parts of myself that can never be made whole That won't ever be perfect That will always be incomplete Like an