Venus de Milo.

I once saw the world in a statue. 

She stood before me porcelain and pure. I let my fingers dance along her weathered body. The marble was cold but whispered promises of a fire within. Time had stolen bits and pieces of her, as time so often does, yet here she stood, beautifully broken. I smiled to myself, though her arms were gone she still held so much. She represented such an exquisite irony. Though we leave much of ourselves behind as we grow, in the end, it is what makes us whole. 

Grandma's Girl.

I wrote this poem for a poetry competition a couple months before my Grandma passed away. I found out recently that I won the competition and the poem is going to be published. 

Poem for Iris.

No warm memories left to reflect on,

Long locked away with a forgotten key. 

I hold your hand and sing your favorite song,

In hopes you'll remember me. 

Ninety-two years seems quick when measured by life,

A tear falling as I whisper, "how unfair,"

To not remember when you were pronounced man and wife,

Or the seven beautiful babies you bared. 

The stories you'd tell under the shade of a tree, 

Wide eyed grandchildren hanging on every word. 

I promise to carry those memories with me,

And tell my children the same tales that I heard. 

I remember that all would yield to your word,

Your advice stood above the rest. 

I'll keep with me always the lessons I learned, because after all grandmas know best. 

I'll love you through each new chapter of this life,

And though I've grown too big for your lap,

I desperately wish through my sadness and strife, that just for a moment we could go back. 

Back to money snuck into chubby little hands,

To hugs and kisses over skinned knees. 

Back to when you were my biggest fan, and you still remembered me. 

So many warm memories left to reflect on, 

Your little pal I'll always be. 

I hold your hand and sing your favorite song, and you start to sing it back to me.