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In one of my earliest memories, I am on my knees, my hands clasped before me, head bent, crying, asking God to take my life. I wrote this poem during a time when I found myself making the same wish as an adult, looking for an answer to the darkness.

my hand is pressed against your window.

let me in- I’m far from home and I’m so tired. I have questions I need to ask you:

was there love here? was there pain? how do I go back? how do I come home?

I watch your hand draw the blinds closed.

I used to ask God with all my heart to let me fly I used to ask God with all my heart to let me die.