Category Archives: The Liminal Times

The Soft Prophet (or The Beauty of Utterly Here)


The Cot

Nothing to do but drowse and dream,
when sunlight slants through windows
and the house holds its breath.

You trust the world completely,
gentle beast of earth and hearth.

What is it about your stillness
that makes me pause?
You’ve found the secret:
the holiness of rest,
the revolution of surrender.

Tell me, soft prophet,
what god speaks in your dreams?
What wild wisdom runs
beneath that maroon velvet?

I want to learn
how to give myself to the day
as fully as you do,
how to make an altar
of any quiet corner,
how to believe
I belong exactly here.​​​​​​​​​​​
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My Sister’s Boxes


My Sister’s Boxes

When I moved my sister’s boxes,
I thought I could finally let go
of the clutter she’d carried
for too many years.

But inside each one
was a piece of her—
small things, big things,
things I forgot, things she kept
to remember the forgetting.

There were letters,
from people long gone,
clothes that fit no one anymore,
even dreams wrapped in fraying paper,
growing heavier with dust.

I thought I was freeing up space,
but it turned out
space was not the problem.
It was the weight of holding on,
a burden so light I never felt it
until it was gone.

And now, here I am,
in this new place,
with her shelves still bare,
feeling lighter but not empty,
letting her go
without asking her to stay.