My poetry is rarely fury
rather,
it is the 8-second exhale at the end
of a breathing exercise;
the unspooling
of personal confessions.

I am a writer in small bursts
and slow burns
and of long post-slumber stretches.
My poetry is my own awakening
and not the world’s

but

I strive to soothe
your tired shoulders
with stanzas
and count your iambic inhalations;
I stitch my words into
a down comforter on your bed,
cook a breakfast
of possibilities

for you

to wake to.