United States

"half of me is ocean. half of me is sky."

Message from Writer

she / her || community ambassador alumni

Some links to learn more about the BLM movement, police brutality, and environmental racism:



h o m e

June 8, 2020



chapped hands wedged between the window-panes and i,
air-conditioned shell of uncertainty, grasp green twixt my fingertips.

there, look, out the charcoal truck's apertures: little girl squeezing a metallic 
fishing-pole, line slithering through the reservoir like spaghetti noodles -- pink bows
in her cinnamon hair.

there, look: mustard cornrows and scarlet barns, rusted porcelain farmhouses
crumbling in facades of memories, smashed under the harsh winds of the world.
are we not, too, simply wood panels and broken limbs, crushed beneath
the weight of our earth?

there, look: train tracks pushing past walnut soil, crusted with blotches of
fatigue and groaning under the sprinkle of dandelion seeds. perhaps one day
they were bathed in cars and trampled under dreamy-eyed people,
hope wavering round their bodies.

there, look: it's a small town, smaller streets, curved like the nimble
lines of my soul -- weak and delicate and afraid. can these fraying roads
compete with the highway that cuts through their solemn fields and church bells,
can they compare to the whirring tire-streaks and blaring horns? will this quiet
village soon melt like warm chocolate under the weight of man-made interstates?

there, look: silos stand tall and unbreakable, and unlike me, they don't
quiver in the sunlight, don't sit criss-cross in the shade blanketed in
frail sod. unlike me, they know who they are.

[Are We Almost There? 
Yes, Yes, There, Look: We're Nearly Here]

run, run, run through the fields, and look, look at the scarlet barns and cornrows, 
farmhouses and train tracks and small towns. run through the effervescent fields
and trickling streams, swallow clouds and smile: white sneakers turned gray
turned brown turned scraps of fabric and bare feet, bumpy earth. 
who needs shoes anyway?

​run, run, and don't turn back, run and there, look:

we're home,
we've always been.

Most of this I wrote in my notes while listening to "Look up Child" but Lauren Daigle, driving to my cousin's farm and peering at the fields and barns and hills that make up my home.


See History
  • June 8, 2020 - 9:12am (Now Viewing)

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  • rainandsonder

    i don’t live in a rural area but most of my family does and when i visit them it feels a lot like this poem. the imagery is just fantastic and SO vivid, i feel like i’m there, looking at the train tracks and farms. reading this poem feels like being home.

    4 months ago
  • sunny.v

    geez, this is simply gorgeous. “we’re home, we’ve always been” wow, that just punches you right in the gut. your imagery is beautifully vivid!!!

    4 months ago
  • mia_:)

    I agree with Anne Blackwood! This is absolutely stunning! Your descriptions are beautiful!

    4 months ago
  • kealoha

    Thank you so much for the review! This is a beautiful piece btw :)

    4 months ago
  • AbigailSauble

    I'll have to read this again to fully grasp the beauty of the landscape which you are describing. Excellent.
    Keep on! God bless!

    4 months ago
  • Anne Blackwood

    I am unbelievably jealous of your writing ability and longing even more for your home. *shrugs*
    Also Lauren Daigle is awesome.

    5 months ago