Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance. 

-Carl Sandburg 

On Sunday, July 20th myself and three other girls 

hosted a bridal shower for our friend, Shannon. 

In a private room at Meritage in East Greenwich,  

24 people gathered to shower the bride-to-be with gifts, wishes, tons of love…. 

and one poem.  

I have known my friend Shannon for about 6 years now. 

From the very first day we met, we have done almost nothing but laugh. 

Through all the stresses of our jobs, all the demands of rude customers, 

we could shift it all by making each other laugh.   

We could turn any bad situation 

into a really good time. 

And I have been known to turn many a good time, into a lengthy, ridiculous poem. 

A poem for Assistant's Day. 

A poem for every birthday. 

A poem for her engagement party. 

And for her bridal shower? 

You bet your ass she got a poem.   

I tried to keep it short, but I couldn't. 

I tried to spare too many details, but I couldn't. 

I tried to not cry when writing it (or reading it), 

but I did. 

For months prior to the shower, 

I had planned out some decorations, centerpieces, favors, etc. 

I knew there would be terrariums and succulents and a wishing tree and a few feathers. 

I gathered round fishbowls from thrift stores, tiny buckets, 

peat moss and deer moss and succulents a plenty. 

What started out as 8 succulent plants transformed into 24 bridal shower favors. 

I made a wishing tree with manzanita branches sitting in a large fishbowl filled with rocks and moss and feathers.

Using feather stamped tags, guests could write their advice or wishes for the bride to be. 

Everything all set up in front of the candlelit wall. 


I love creating displays.  This kind of work always lights me up. The amazing works of art of Anthropologie  displays in all their windows, inspires me to no end. 
I love using what I already have and turning it into something new and beautiful.
I love the amazing feeling I get
when I have thrifted something I otherwise, couldn't have afforded. 

But as much as all this lights me up,
nothing lights me up more than writing.
(Nothing lights me up more than rhyming).

And then to share it out loud, to your friend as a gift, 
lights us both up…. 

...As you already know Shannon, I have begun to grow flowers for you, 
And while I certainly have no field, I do have the space… 
There are dahlias and zinnias and coleus and lamb's ear
All waiting to go into their vase. 

But what if they don't look good, what if they're the wrong color… 
What if a hurricane comes and wipes it all away? 
With Mother Nature you never know, 
so another plan must be in tow, 
And that's why I am up here today…. 

From calla lilies to fiddleheads,  from head crowns to corsages 
All your vases, feathers and anything in between 
Whatever your vision, as grand as it may be… 
Rest assured will all be paid for, by me. 

So check that off your list, and put that money into something else 
It's the least I can do for you on this day
Your vision is mine (no matter how many times you change it) 
I will help you create your dream, of a gorgeous wedding day…. 


She loved it, she loved all of it. 
From the poem to the games, to laughing with her family and friends,
I would say this day was pretty amazing.  

A smile never left my friends' face all day.

And speaking of things that light me up,
you can put that one at the top of the list.

She is small but she is fierce, and she can handle any stress 

Unlike me who gets tied up in knots most of the time
She unties me and unravels me and helps me find my sorts
I might be the poet, but she is my rhyme. 
   



   

“One day I will find the right words, 

and they will be simple.” 

- Jack Kerouac

I began writing in my first journal when I was in the 3rd grade. 

 I wrote about a boy in my class borrowing my crayon. 

And that was all I wrote. 

Simple and to the point.  

Of course as I got older my entries developed in much more content and emotion.  

By the time I was in high school I was writing in my journal daily. 

Page after page of adolescent troubles. 

Boys, parents, boys, friends, boys.

Dissecting my emotions about it all. Trying to figure out why I felt the way I did. 

Trying to understand the point in all of it. 

Trying to understand myself.  

Back then the writing was easy. My pen would hit the paper and I would purge it all. 

Anger, love, confusion. 

Anything and everything came out of me and I never thought twice about it. 

I just let it flow. 

I just let it go. 

And it was easy. 

It was easy because nobody saw it. 

I didn't have to explain myself to anyone. 

I didn't have to feel any feelings of shame or embarrassment. 

I didn't compare my journal entries to other journal entries. 

I didn't look for how many "likes" I had. 

I just wrote. 

With no fear of who would or wouldn't comment. 

No fear of looking crazy, unorganized, or irrelevant. 

I just wrote. 

Something has happened to me since then. 

I don't write in a journal anymore.  

The most writing I do now is an occasional post on Facebook.  

Most of the things I have to say, I say to my husband 

or to my friends in the form of conversation.  

I have chained myself up. 

I have protected myself and my thoughts from cruelty and judgement. 

I have resorted to keeping everything safe, 

thoughts and ideas locked up in my own head 

so I don't have to own them or explain any of it to anyone. 

 But I miss having no fear. 

I miss the girl in 3rd grade who kept things simple and to the point. 

I miss the girl in high school who, without thinking, would just write. 

I miss the girl who always knew she had something to say. 

So here I am. 

Writing my first post in my new blog. 

Putting it all out there for the world to see. 

And I am scared shitless. 

But I am doing it anyway.  

  

No more talking about it. 

No more judging myself for it. 

No more chains. 

No more walking the tightrope.

I am here to let it all go. 

I am here to let it all flow. 

I am here and I am ready to tell my story.

I am ready to share my ideas. 

 I am ready to expose myself like the pinup on the swing. 

 Exposing all that I am and all I desire to be. 

Ready to rise above. 

Ready to elevate.  

And to get it all started 

all I had to do was write. 

Simple.