This past Monday, our family loaded the trappings of college dorm life into our two cars. It was time to move Nathan back to campus for his junior year. As we prepared to leave home,…
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What follows isn’t a poem. It’s a playful inventory of basic intentions that guide my creative work—indeed, my daily living. It sets forth how I aspire to conduct myself as a “maker” and as a…
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What follows is a “found poem.” To create it, I took lines from a story I’d read this week on Braided Way and rearranged them into a poem, leaving the words mostly verbatim. I want to thank…
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FISHING FOR WORDS for creatives who write You stand on the edge of a shallow lake, casting your line, waiting for bites— some days, not a nibble.…
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NAMES WILL CARRY Phyllis Cole-Dai for Wanda and Tom I carry your names into the mountains you loved, though mountains have no need of names— they know each pilgrim that passes through by scent…
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A light pops up on the dashboard of my Ford Fusion. My stomach sinks to the floor. “Check Oil.” This isn’t an emergency, exactly—just a bit of a pickle. In our family, Jihong’s the oil…
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You ever gone through a long stretch where major responsibilities were pulling you in several directions at once? When all you could do was breathe and keep going, trusting that you’d get to the end…
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This week I plopped down on the piano bench to muse with my fingers on the keyboard about what to write for today’s Staying Power. One song led to another, and eventually I came to “What…
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Good morning, Pat!* Thank you for your email, seeking to hire me as an editor for your poems. By now, you’ve received my reply, where I explained that I don’t provide editorial services, only “creative companioning.”…
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A Rafter asked me to muse on the topic of shame and self-forgiveness. This poem is what emerged. Thank you, anonymous friend, for the prompt! THE SCAR'S APPEAL Phyllis Cole-Dai Look at me: I’m what…
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