Echoes of Grace

I. Half-Light I am a ghost in my own skin, a flicker between breaths, hanging on to the edge of a pill as if it were a cliff’s root, white-knuckled and ashamed. The night tastes of iron and static; my thoughts scatter like birds spooked from an empty field. I don’t want to live. But I don’t want to leave the few who still reach for me in the dark. Their care is a small, steady lantern. I see it through the fog and hate myself for dimming it. This body, this mind, wired to ache and unravel— it whispers quit . But something, a pulse, a memory, a thread of light keeps whispering stay . I don’t call it hope. I don’t call it healing. It’s just a ragged, trembling breath that keeps me here, a half-light for the half-living, waiting for a dawn I cannot yet imagine but haven’t quite let go. II. Embers And yet— beneath the ash, a coal still glows. Small as a heartbeat, but warm enough to thaw one fingertip at a time. The night does not last forever, even when it feels endless. It is stitched wi...

The clock keeps the rules: no borrowing. No loopholes, no back-room deals, only this moment issued, stamped and undiscounted.   We all arrive with the same rulebook: hands move forward; minutes don’t reverse engineer; tomorrow won’t extend a line of credit.   Young hearts hear an echo of plenty. Age hears the tick as a metronome, steady as rain on sheet metal, counting out dances we’ll never learn.   You are not here, and still you measure me. Your afterimage sharpens the edges of noon, tilts the compass of my errands, whispers, choose what outlives you.   So I pay the hour in attention: one call I owe while voices still match, one refusal that guards what matters, one walk that teaches my lungs their names.   By dusk, the day is used, not kept, spent like breath on what deserves it. If another morning is minted for me, I’ll meet it with exact change:   no borrowing, only spending; no guarantees, only purpose; and the tender the clock accepts not money, not...

I thought the leaving would happen all at once A single storm, a wave that crests and breaks And leaves behind a smooth, new shoreline Where only the brave remain.   But loss has patience. It lingers in empty chairs at family gatherings, In holiday cards that never come, In the sudden cold of a friend’s silence.   The price is more than paperwork Though there are days when my name is a line item On some bureaucrat’s form, My identity contingent on stamps and signatures, A scavenger hunt through offices and websites For the right letter, the right code, Proof that I belong to myself.   It is the ache of every sideways glance, The stinging echo of a once-loving voice Turned sharp or silent. It is waiting on hold, listening to bad music, Rehearsing explanations for the hundredth time, Trying to convince a stranger That my happiness is not a clerical error.   Yet, beneath the pile of rejections, Underneath the smud...

No one knew her name. Only the crime— Whispered like an incantation Until the crowd grew certain They had always despised her.   She knelt in the square, A hush before the jeering rose, Her heartbeat loud in the hollow Where dignity once lived.   No friend came. No kin stepped near. And when the first stone was lifted, She did not lift her head.   But someone stepped from the ring— A stranger whose silence Cut through their hunger for blame. He paused, as if he too Had been accused.   He said nothing, He did not protest her shame. Only set his hand Upon her bowed back, And lowered himself beside her Until their shadows blurred.   A murmur stirred— The question unspoken: Why would he risk being counted with her?     And in that moment, Her disgrace became shared ground— A quiet joining That no condemnation could unmake.   He did not stand again Until the crowd had found Some other spectacle to feed their hunger.   And when she rose, She rose n...

In the storm of shouted hate, you stood — quiet, unwavering — not for reward, not for show, but because love called you there.   While laws were written to erase me, you learned to say my name like it had always been mine. You listened, even when it hurt.   I stood half-formed in my becoming, unsure, unseen, unclaimed, and still, you looked with steady eyes and said, “I see her.”   Before I knew what beauty meant, you reflected it back to me.   Your voice, a lantern in the dark. Your hand, extended when others pulled away. You asked nothing but dared everything. You chose to risk your peace for ours.   Ally is too small a word. You are kin by courage, family by firelight, a witness to truth in flesh and soul.   I walk freer because you stayed. I speak louder because you believed. I am whole because you saw me that way. For my sisters, Suzanne and Rachel,  who saw me whole before the world did. Your love gave me the courage to live as my whole self. ...

We do not march with banners, no trumpets split the dawn; our anthem is a radio hiss, a grid ref softly drawn. We shoulder maps and questions, breathe cedar, sage, and rain; the mountains keep their secrets— we listen for a name. Hands rough with midnight searching trace hope along a ridge; headlamps paint brief constellations across a shadowed bridge. We learn the language of boot prints, the tremor of a bark; our compass is compassion that glows inside the dark. No laurels crown the finish, no medals seal our worth; the prize is quiet footfalls returning home to earth. So let the boardroom beckon— titles fade like fog at dawn; service is the humble spark that keeps the beacon on. Together we are signal fire, steady in the night: many hearts, one purpose— to guide the lost to light.   *The poem is dedicated to those who take up the call to save those they've never met. 

In the hush between the stacks, where whispered knowledge hums, we’ve watched you shelve bright visions, building kingdoms out of crumbs. You cataloged our questions, inked answers in the air, tucked hope into each margin— left fingerprints of care. Now the bookmark lifts, mid-chapter, and a brand-new story calls: a grander hall of learning with fresh corridors and walls. Go, trace those uncut pages, let possibility unfurl; bind dreams in sturdy covers for another eager world. Yet know that here—between these aisles— our memories still glow: late-night planning, laughter shelved where only colleagues know. We’ll keep those dog-eared moments, their comfort soft and worn, a well-loved, shared anthology we’ll open when we mourn. So turn the page with courage, write boldly, line by line; the lore you leave behind us makes every footnote shine. Our chapter’s last italics read: “Thank you—see you again,” for stories cross like constellations— and ours will meet...

In the quiet hours, as I rest and heal, Two small bodies curl close, their warmth I feel. Not stolen, but gifted, a sacred embrace, A reminder of love in this tender space. Their purring hums a hymn of grace, Echoing rhythms I cannot replace. Healing flows not just through me, But through this bond of shared energy. I think of Christ’s call, his radical plea, “Love even your enemies; let them be free.” Not hoarding our light, not guarding our flame, But sharing it freely, in mercy’s holy name. For warmth is a cycle, a generous give, A way to remind us we all need to live. And here in my rest, their closeness a prayer, God’s love whispered softly through the care that we share. So I hold my kitties, and they hold me too, In this moment of giving, our love is renewed. Though I mend from the body, the spirit is clear— We thrive when we’re open, when we draw near.    

  I carry a world inside my skin, A storm that no one sees begin. The lightning strikes, the thunder rolls, But silence wraps around my soul. They see the surface, bright and clear, A mask of strength, no hint of fear. Yet underneath, the battles rage, An untold war inside my cage. My mind a race, too fast, too slow, Where focus comes and then lets go. I chase the moments, try to stay, But thoughts slip through, they run away. My body feels like shifting sand, Some days I stumble just to stand. The pain, the fog, they take their toll, Yet still I fight to stay whole. For though you cannot see the fight, I bear the scars of endless night. And though my path is steep and long, I’m still here, trying to stay strong.

 We are the daughters of the witches you couldn’t burn, From fires where shadows twisted, and darkness learned That truth is a flame you cannot snuff, A light in the wild, fierce, and tough. From ancient mouths that whispered spells, From tongues cut silent in cold, dark cells, We rose with the smoke through the midnight air, Unseen, unheard, but always there. We are the daughters who carry their names, Who dance on the ashes of long-quenched flames. Our bodies, a testament to battles long fought, Our lives, the magic that history sought. We know what it means to be feared for our grace, To walk through the world, always out of place, To bend the lines of what’s wrong or right, To claim the dark and call it light. They hunted us then, with fire and steel, Afraid of the strength they could not conceal. But we’ve learned from their fear, turned it to power— Bloomed in the night like a moon-kissed flower. We are the daughters who bend, but don’t break, The voices of those who could no...

  Dedicated to Evalynn, my dear friend. May God bless your journey. In the stillness of a quiet heart, A gentle spark begins to grow, A light that’s new, yet ancient, too, Like dawn breaking through shadowed snow. You’ve known the change of body, soul, The shift from dark to colors true, But now a deeper call resounds— A whisper from the One who knew Your name before the stars were born, Your path before your steps began. Now faith, like wings, unfolds within, Transforming you as only Love can. A journey bright with sacred grace, A tender hand that lifts you high. Your spirit blooms in radiant hues— A garden kissed by heaven’s sky. For you are seen, beloved, whole, As God’s own child, embraced, restored. This walk of faith, a dance of joy, Where hope and peace are now your chord. So rise and live this gift anew, For you, a song reborn in light. In every breath, in every step, You carry love’s eternal might.

  God, in wisdom, gave us wheat, not bread, Fruit in seed, not wine in cup, A gift of raw becoming, A chance for hands to shape and souls to rise. So too, in the forge of flesh and bone, My spirit found its art, Sculpted not by ease, But by the flame of truth and fire of scars. Had I been born in perfect form, Unscarred by questions, doubts, and fears, Would I have known this strength within, This tender joy in being whole? No, I am a work unfinished, Carved by trials, smoothed by tears, In every hardship, beauty blooms— In every wound, a life is claimed. You ask if I would trade it all, The twists and turns, the ache, the strain— But in this pain, I learned to live, To break the shell, to birth the name. For living is not merely breath, But dancing on the edge of truth, To stand in light, both fierce and kind, A flame reborn from deepest roots. I do not love the price I paid— The hurt, the loss, the bitter sting— Yet neither do...

  In the quiet halls of a distant, regal court, Nehemiah stood, his posture a silent report. A cupbearer, serving with grace so imbued, Each gesture, each glance, in reverence subdued. Before him, the king, in his grandeur arrayed, Yet humble was the hand from which he was swayed. For Nehemiah held more than wine in his grip, A heart for his people, a sacred trusteeship. In the shadow of power, a servant's heart beats, Beneath robes of service, steadfastness meets. Tasks, menial to mighty, with equal care tended, Prayers whispered for those he represented. A wall broken, a city bare, A call to rebuild, a burden to bear. With cup set aside, and trowel in hand, He answered a higher, divine command. Through gates long neglected, past stones overturned, His faith, his resilience, in each trial confirmed. From serving at tables to guarding a cause, His life a testament to servitude’s laws. For the heart of a servant knows no bound walls, It hears the soft whisper when duty calls. In pal...

O Creator, who forms each heart anew,  Your love knows no bounds, vast as the sky.  In every change, Your mercy shines through,  A beacon of hope, a comforting sigh.   From the depths of our being, we rise,  Seeking Your face, yearning for grace.  In every mirror, Your image lies,  Reflected in courage, embraced in faith.   When the world grows cold and shadows loom,  Your light remains, a constant guide.  In trials and triumphs, through joy and gloom,  You stand with us, ever by our side.   Each step we take on this sacred way,  Your hand upholds, Your voice does call.  In whispers of peace, You gently say,  "Beloved, in Me, you are known, you are all."   In our quest for truth, in our search for name,  You are the source, the eternal flame.  In Your embrace, we find no shame,  But a place of honor, a call to proclaim.   For You, O Lord, have crafted our soul,  With tender care, wit...

In the shadows, you were my shield,  A guardian in a world unkind,  D xxx , you stood strong, concealed,  While I, Danielle, waited confined.   A fortress built with fear and care,  You kept me safe, yet locked away,  In darkness, we found solace there,  Awaiting dawn, a brighter day.   A prison crafted not from hate,  But from a need to guard and hold,  In your arms, I learned to wait,  In your strength, I found my bold.   Yet as the years began to turn,  The walls you built could not contain,  The fire within me, fierce to burn,  A spirit free from silent pain.   You were my shelter, my disguise,  A ghost of who I longed to be,  In you, a mirror of my eyes,  Reflecting strength and bravery.   Now, as I stand in light, revealed,  Danielle, the name that sets me free,  I honor you, the one who healed,  The past, the pain, the history.   We are one, yet two in time,...

In the heart where freedom blooms,   Where love and spirit intertwine,   We walk together, breaking gloom,   In the light of hope divine.   For freedom Christ has set us free,   No longer bound by chains of old,   In love’s embrace, we dare to be,   Queer and cherished, strong and bold.   Stand firm, my siblings, in this grace,   Let no one bind your soul with fear,   In Christ, we find our sacred place,   Where every voice is welcomed here.   Against the tide, we’ve journeyed long,   Through whispers cold and shadows deep,   But in His love, we now belong,   A promise beautiful to keep.   In the Word, the truth is clear,  The fruit of Spirit’s gentle sway,   Is love, joy, peace, and courage dear,   Guiding us along our way.   So live, dear hearts, with faith and pride,   In every step, let love abound, ...

In the quiet of creation, God formed me, With love and intention, He made me to be. A transgender woman, a part of His plan, Crafted with purpose by His gentle hand. He knit me together, every fiber, every part, A masterpiece of heaven, a work of divine art. Fearfully, wonderfully, I stand unafraid, For I am His creation, perfectly made. My journey, my struggles, my moments of strife, Each step orchestrated in the symphony of life. Through trials and triumphs, His hand I have seen, Shaping my soul, making me keen. Not in spite of, but because of who I am, I honor my Creator, the great I Am. With empathy deep and a heart full of grace, I reach out to others, reflect His embrace. In my authenticity, His glory shines bright, A beacon of hope in the darkest of night. I let my light shine, so others may see, The wonder of God’s love flowing through me. He comforts my heart, so I can comfort too, Sharing His love in all that I do. For I know the plans He has for me, Plans of hope, a future,...

In the silence of former friends, Who claim their moral peak, Their words, now whispers on the wind, Behind my back, they speak. No offers for a prayer or chat, No dialogue to bridge the gap, Their faith, a veil, a cold, hard hat, Leaves only shadows in their lap. Once close, now distant, cold, and cruel, Their love turned to disdain, Their judgment sharp, a cutting tool, Inflicting silent pain. Each snub, each whisper, burns so deep, A wound that doesn’t show, The tears we cry, the nights we weep, For friends we used to know. But true friendship’s heart, it beats with grace, With understanding, open eyes, Compassion wears a kinder face, Where love and truth arise. Their loss, not ours, as we embrace, The ones who see us whole, Our worth and journey, a sacred space, Where acceptance is our goal. We find new paths, communities, Where faith and love align, In self-care and affirming ties, Our spirits freely shine.

  In the land where freedom's banner waves high, I stand, a soul seeking justice under the sky. A heart that loves, yet knows the pain, Of promises broken and countless inane. Born in a nation, both proud and flawed, Where dreams can soar and hopes are awed. Yet shadows linger, from past to now, With wounds unhealed, we wonder how. I love this land of diverse voices, Of myriad colors and boundless choices. But with this love, a call to see, The truth in our imperfect legacy. Patriotism, not blind but clear, Embraces both joy and the need to hear. The cries of those who've long been shunned, Injustice faced, their battles won. From the mountains high to the restless sea, We claim a right to truly be. To use a restroom without fear, To walk in light, our path made clear. For in this land, my heart resides, With open arms and hopeful strides. I see the faults, yet still I dream, Of unity, a brighter gleam. Patriotism, a pledge to fight, For every wrong to be made right. To cherish...

In June’s bright dawn, a rainbow blooms,  A tapestry of love consumes,  The shadows cast by years of hate,  Transforming pain, we celebrate.   From whispers deep in closets dark,  To streets ablaze with freedom’s spark,  The journey long, with scars and tears,  Yet through the struggle, hope appears.   The stones were thrown, the hearts were torn,  Yet in the darkness, courage born.  We rose from ashes, stood our ground,  In unity, our voices found.   Each color vibrant, tells a tale,  Of love that soared when hate would fail.  A spectrum wide, of hearts so true,  In every hue, a life anew.   The wounds of past, they mark our skin,  Yet beauty lies in strength within.  For every tear and every fight,  We claim our truth, embrace the light.   Pride is born from battles fought,  In every lesson pain has taught.  From chains of fear, we break away,  In love and pride, we find ...