The Library

Between Bruises & Blooms

A poetry archive for the things that bruise us, the things that bloom anyway, and everything we become in between.

Welcome to the library. Here you’ll find poetry and reflections rooted in motherhood, grief, love, survival, healing, darkness, nature, and the ordinary moments that refuse to stay ordinary.

Latest Writing

  • Smoke Offering

    A candle and a little smoke become offerings to an old house that asks no questions and lets a tired heart leave something behind.

  • House of the Hedge Witch

    If she disappears, look where ivy devours forgotten houses and the hedge witch sits barefoot among candles, smoke, crows, and wild things.

  • On the Other Side of the Rails

    Through the crib rails, a mother watches one small dreamer and remembers that safety can look like the simplest ordinary promise.

  • The World That Learned to Whisper

    A sleeping baby makes the whole world seem to whisper, held inside the sacred trust of tiny breaths and unguarded dreams.

  • The Witch Who Waited

    Beneath the moon beside a house reclaimed by forest, a small flame and glowing ember make the night feel older than it should.

  • You Smell Like Home

    Home becomes a scent left on borrowed fabric—sawdust, sweat, summer, and the strange peace of breathing someone in after they are gone.

  • 1:00 A.M. at the House That Never Slept

    At one in the morning, an old house keeps watch while the rest of the world sleeps and every dark window seems to stare back.

  • She Knew

    Every time Gabby says “sister,” Beaner looks back with a smile, proving love can answer perfectly without translation.

  • The Sisters Between Screens

    Across a screen, two sisters find one another in smiles, recognition, and a kind of love that never needed many words.

  • The House That Learned My Name

    At the edge of forgetting, an old house seems to know the name of the woman sitting beneath its porch with a candle against the dark.

Stay in the Garden

New poems, new rooms, and whatever blooms next—delivered without making you hunt through the archive for it.