NPM: To Borrow from Lewis

We read to know we’re not alone. 

I write to feel that I am known. 


NPM: Tattoo

I wrote God’s name on my arm 

In permanent ink, tattooed beneath my skin

But it’s only as permanent as this body

Which is dying day by day

So the commitment is not so long

The permanency doesn’t concern me really

Since God wrote my name on his palms

And his body is much more permanent

Than mine

NPM: Not To Write

Telling me not to write 

Is like telling the bird not to fly. 

You’ll have to break my wings first. 


NPM: Call Me Mara

Do not call me Naomi. 

I am no longer pleasant.

I’m Mara, I’m bitter, I’m empty.

I was filled, but I’ve been hollowed out.

I’ve lost the sweetness of the rose.

I’ve lost the flavor of food.

I’ve lost my love and my legacy.

I’ve lost my faith and my trust.

Do not call me by my old name-

The name that, when on his lips, 

Meant promise and future and passion.

It is a bitter reminder of who I was, 

Who he was,

Who we were. 

Naomi died with Elimelek, Mahlon, and Kilion.

Call me bitter. Call me Mara. 


NPM: Hope Unfolds

Hope unfolds like a flower 

Slowly, slowly, then all at once

Bursting into full bloom


NPM: Less Than She Appears

She looms over a cauldron, steaming

Tosses into the pot o’er a fire, gleaming,

A handful of aromatic herbs

With a cackle that frightens and disturbs

The fire glints in her yellowed eyes

Her coin pouch jingles against her thighs

But instead of potent witch’s brew

Her pot is filled with common stew


NPM: Treasure

The sun glazes each leaf on the branches stretched over me

Each serrated edge gilded with molten gold

I lay sprawled at the base of the tree

like a dragon on its hoard

but the treasure tosses above me

not below