Home.

I am from a place far away. 

Sometimes I forget what it looked like. 

Sometimes I forget the smell, the taste of it. 

But not really. 

It lives in my bones. 

The scent in my hair. 

The dirt of it under my fingernails. 

Atlanta clay deep in my throat. 

Iran in my underbelly. 

Greece in my limbs. 

New Jersey in my collarbone. 

Massachusetts around my neck. 

I am from Austria and Turkey and who knows where.

I am from frozen yogurt after school, 

West 4th Street at 2am, burgers and beer 

And fried chicken beneath neon signs. 

I am from watermelons and feta cheese. 

Baklava and love. Peanut butter, pretzels, and jazz. 

I am from lands I will never know. 

Exiled. Emigrated. Fled. Lost. 

I am from home and return back there, 

Look for it everywhere. 

I come and go and come and go over and over again, 

Searching for something maybe I will never find. 

Or maybe it’s been here all along. 

In my collarbone, my underbelly, my neck–- 

Under my fingernails and in my throat. 

Maybe it is right here in my limbs, pounding 

In my chest, radiating down my thighs. 

I am from places far away and closer than my breath. 

I am from here, there, nowhere. 

I am from far away. 

I am home. 

Sanctuary.

This marriage is a sanctuary.
A coming home to myself.
An invitation to open my heart to another,
To myself, to God, and to the world.

I look around and about me
At the life we've created--
A home beneath the trees
Filled with light.
Our daughters' laughter;
Their budding selves safe
Between these walls.

What gratitude
For this life we are building here
With our love.

In the pines.

There is a place I can go 

To make peace with myself

Where the monsters inside are quiet

And the sun reflects pink 

And purple and orange on all of God’s creation 

I walk quietly on soft ground 

Pine needles silencing my footsteps 

Sun streaming through the tall trees 

I wonder about God and life  

Death and everything in between 

I am comforted by my smallness and yet 

The impact of my life so profound 

For these small people

The ones at my doorstep 

Pounding on my door 

Knocking down the walls of my heart 

The ones pushing through and up around me 

Aching to get in, on top, inside me 

Crawling in my hair and

All at once 

I want them as close as possible and also 

Crave the space of aloneness 

Solitude an elusive friend 

Like a secret lover 

I sneak moments with— 

Exhilarated 

And riddled with guilt. 

We find moments together 

Beneath the pines 

In the shadow of the great mountain and 

At the water’s edge 

I cherish you 

And also the small people 

Tugging at my sleeves. 

I cherish it all 

Like holy breath 

Here for a moment 

Life giving 

And then gone.

Thy will be done.

Thy will be done for the birds; 

For beautiful baby Silas 

And the girls with flowers in their hair; 

For all the women and men 

Journeying home 

In search of peace and food 

Returning and fleeing and everything in between. 

Thy will be done—

Which is to say 

Let us find some relief, God, 

If you are listening, 

Let us be blessed with a bit of peace 

With sunlight on our cheeks and 

Rose water in our hair. 

Thy will be done for the powerful men 

Who hold the fate of so many in their hands; 

Little men with big egos and selfish dreams 

And way too much at stake; 

Let them find mercy in their hearts. 

Thy will be done 

For the birds, for the flowers and the rivers, 

The oceans, the mountains and the streams; 

Thy will be done for the clouds overhead 

The blazing sunset in the darkening sky. 

Thy will be done.

Take these beloveds

Show us

How to be useful; 

How to love, 

How to let it all go, 

How to pay attention and 

Open our hearts;

How to be a channel 

For it all.