Rock of Grief

Sharp, spikey, painful to touch

Difficult to lift, to hold, to carry

Yet I carry it everywhere I go.

Dear Little Ones

We were told we could have it all. We did everything right.

I still wonder who you might have been—

a laugh echoing through quiet rooms,

tiny shoes by the front door,

finger-painted suns hanging crooked on the fridge.

I've always been told how good I am with children

This is an artwork I created while vacating my second art studio.

There is a Fear I don't say out loud very often.

One hard thing about infertility is the feeling of being left behind-over, and over again.

I never questioned whether I wanted to become a mother. I always knew I did. From a young age I assumed I would get the opportunity.