Motherhood
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Every trail becomes a kingdom when Theo reaches for leaves like stars and turns an ordinary afternoon into an adventure.
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By six o’clock, the house finally loosens its grip and ordinary chaos settles into a golden, temporary quiet.
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Motherhood introduces us to impossible versions of ourselves: exhausted, fierce, tender, and somehow still standing.
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Tiny hands know only that her arms are home, never seeing the battles she fought just to keep showing up.
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Strength does not always look like taming a lion; sometimes it has four small hands reminding a mother why she keeps going.
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At two in the morning, cold coffee, laundry, and a judgmental cat hold up the same house motherhood keeps running through the dark.
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Six tiny needles and two tearful little girls turn a routine appointment into another lesson in how brave small bodies can be.
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Sick or not, motherhood still wakes with bottles, dishes, dogs, medicine, and the quiet strength of doing the next thing.
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A summer trip in Vancouver turns frightening when an almost-two-year-old’s warmth becomes the first sign that something is terribly wrong.
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Some days the poems wait while bottles, laundry, little hands, and ordinary motherhood take the whole page.
Between Bruises & Blooms 