In fair Verona, where we lay our scene…
It was my first weekend in your world—my first taste of your beauty, your chaos, your magic. I was a junior in college, still tethered tightly to the familiar. I had never lived away from home, never navigated a new language, never taught in a classroom of my own. And then—there you were. An unexpected invitation, a semester on a U.S. Army base in Vicenza, and a ticket halfway across the world.
You were terrifying.
But you were everything.
You met me with cobblestone streets, ancient ruins, and pizza I learned to order with awkward hand gestures and a smile. You gave me gelato in the snow, Juliet’s balcony in Verona, Carnivale in Venice, and a Valentine’s Day in Rome that still feels like a dream. You gave me my first roommates, my first students, my first real taste of independence—and, somehow, you gave me my future husband too.
You changed me not with one grand moment, but with a thousand small ones: the kind that turn into memories, and then into identity. You taught me how to be brave. How to live in the unknown. How to find pieces of myself in foreign places and unfamiliar faces.
You were my beginning—of adulthood, of love, of courage.
And while I may have returned home fifteen years ago, you’ve never really let me go.
With love and a suitcase full of memories,
from the girl who said yes to you and everything the came after

The place that holds my story is not one most seek out.

A hill of torture.
Where the depth of humanity’s cruelty burns,
Where shame and scorn seem to reign supreme.
Yet—
to the discerning eye,
there’s more here to be seen.

If you climb the hill to this
place of the skull—
Golgotha—
You will ache.

The despair of the condemned will weigh heavily on your heart.
The sight of weeping mothers will fill your eyes, their cries drowned out by the
jeering mob.
You will witness the immense effort it takes
to steal one labored breath.
You will watch as life slowly, savagely slips away
in an untidy and unending drip.

An innocent lamb, unblemished.
A suffering servant who sings of
forgiveness in his final breath.
This willing incarnation of love,
who leaves
no stone unturned,
no heart left to harden,
no moment unmet—
meets the worst of fates here.

Who in their right mind would willingly venture into this space?

Indeed, most of His friends dared not follow Him here.
Most scattered to the winds of fear.

To be honest, I’ve done the same.
Not just in fright—but also in disillusionment.
I turned my back, not due to a lack
Of love,
but because I had the story all wrong.

And my abandoning, my flight (which still happens) deepens the heartbreak here—
but also the capacity for hope.

For I’ve left but also returned.
I’ve stood here again and again,
drawn not by duty, but by the pain only this place can name.

But, standing is only the start.

You must also look with an unflinching gaze.
Observing at His feet—His mother, Mary,
and the other women strong enough to stay—you will feel their pain.

You will feel their power.

Watching the beloved apostle—one of the few who chose to anchor himself
at the feet of the One who called him to new life—
you will grasp that there is more to this place than death, harm, and despair.

You will see, if you too can stand there,
that the grounding and accompaniment on display
are the seeds of light in this den of destruction—
This house of torturous pain,
Nowhere for the faint or hard of heart.

For those seeds reveal that it’s also the home of hope.
The soil from which forgiveness, healing, and joy bloom.

I often stand at the foot of the cross,
watching as Jesus breathes his last.
As he forgives those who spat on him,
stealing His dignity and life.

I pray to have the strength to stand my ground in this place:
To remain rooted in love.
To keep vigil with Him, like the wondrous women whose strength I emulate.
To tenderly remove his wounded body from the cross,
and in laying him gently down,
To take oil and water and wash those wounds
with all the care and attention I have.
To tend to these wounds as my return
for the ways He has cared for mine.

This divine Physician asks for nothing—
and yet, I long to give in return.
In this place, I choose to honor his wholly holy hurts.
And while fear begs us to run like hell from a place like this,
I realize and remember that He is found here.

I see the secret that resides in each puncture:
The stone that blocks the tomb can be rolled away.

But, it is only in journeying to and through this place that
Such boulders can be moved.

Only when you weep and mourn at this Master’s feet
will you gain clarity to see what lies beyond.

Only when you tend to His glorious wounds
will you heal your own.

This place that holds my story
is one I thought I’d left for good.
I chalked it up to fabrication.
I saw the way people wielded this tale as a weapon,
damaging rather than healing.
So I left,
trampling pages underfoot,
letting silence replace my prayers.

When I finally came home,
When I at last heeded that unceasing call of love from above,
I was welcomed with the warmest embrace.
The fatted calf was slain,
a feast held for me.

I didn’t deserve this…

I couldn’t deserve this…

But…

Love doesn’t keep score
or worry about such petty concerns.
Love proclaims ownership, not possession.
It deals in deliverance, not debts.
It fills and does not falter.
Love surrounds, sustains, and never ceases.

Coming back to this place wasn’t a journey home
so much as learning to reopen my tight-shut eyes,
Which is, in truth, an unending process.

You see,
I’ve always been
right here
beneath this cross.
I just couldn’t always
sense
it.

This place where I meet Him
has always lived
within.

A cross carved not in wood,
but in me.

This place that holds my story—
Holds me too.

Dear Phillip Island,

It was in your ten thousand, eight hundred and eleven miles away from home that I learnt how to love for the first time. It took me three seas and an ocean to learn that it is worthwhile. I must have been lonely.

You were a small place – a few towns, fourteen thousand residents. There were likely more tourists than locals, most days. Those penguins you shelter on the Ouest side certainly did work their charm. It was not home, far from it; the roads were too straight, the flies too pesterous and the birds too adamant to be on the next roadkill headline; nonetheless, I built my little life. I had my routine and my favourite spots. I worked and tried to integrate with the locals; the later rather unsuccessfully. I was always a shy kid; I always kept my wall up, holding my acquaintances at just enough distance to avoid the pain of goodbye.

Yet, it was on your white sandy beaches that I fell into his eyes, on your barren cliffs that I craved for his love and on your clear sky mornings and rainy afternoons that I yearned for his touch. It was like the movies say, perhaps it is worth indulging in the pleasures of the heart without fearing the pain that may follow. You might have caught glimpses of us chasing those fleeting moments of warmth. Was I crazy to let in a stranger, on a strange Island, knowing full well my departure date was set? Soon enough there I was again, travelling halfway around the world, but in the opposite direction.

Although I am now left with fragments of a memory, you have taught me the value of opening my heart. It was confusing, it was painful and most of all, it was beautiful.

With all my love,

Rhea.

Dear Little Missouri State Park,

Every year that I see you, somehow feels like it has only been a few days and a lifetime all at once. My most formative moments have taken place up and down your switchback trails and between your narrow ledges. As I have adapted through adolescence, college, marriage and now parenthood. You too have been forced to adapt to droughts, floods, tornados, oil drilling and the steady erosion of time. You change your paths to keep up with the changes, but your integrity and character has thankfully suffered little for it. You are still the place that I look forward to every year. Your lush green plateaus juxtaposed against the striped dusty layers of the badlands. The winding trails that go deep into the forested valleys that offer cool shade on a rough horseback ride, but still terrify me because I am one bad step away from a broken bone. A person can watch the people ahead of them appear as though they are dropping off the face of the planet. Nothing gets my heart to race faster. And yet, nothing can calm down faster than watching a sunset over your hills and make me feel at complete peace.

I’ve tried, but I can’t think of only one story that defines you to me. There’s the time I almost got bit by a rattler. It was coiled just a few inches behind my left foot in the tall grass. I told myself I wasn’t going to move, but then I decided to sprint up a hill to get away. But that story is such a small part of my time there it barely warrants an honorable mention. I can recall several nights of staying up way past park curfew to do stargazing or laugh and tell stories around the campfires, much to the chagrin of the park rangers but that just makes me sound irresponsible or disrespectful and I have the utmost respect for the camp and those who take care of it. There’s the time I went on a trail ride when I was seven and I got split up from my brother who was supposed to be responsible for me. The group split up into two and my horse went one direction and my brother went the other. It was a bigger deal for my parents who were pretty concerned since it was my first solo ride, but truth be told, the horse I was riding should’ve been named “Ol’ Reliable”. I was in good hands(or rather, hooves) that day. Between several galloping adventures and witnessing daredevil stunts, and a handful of close calls with spooked horses or horses dropping dead of heart attacks on the trails, there’s enough reason to have a healthy respect for what can happen out there in the badlands of North Dakota. But none of those reasons prevent me from going or wanting to go back year after year.

Your lack of cell service and wi-fi forces me to take in all of the sights, sounds and smells whether I want to or not. And I am ultimately better for it, even if your vault toilets make me want to puke sometimes. I have faced my greatest fears while being your captive audience, but I have also laughed the hardest I ever have in my life, and I have come away with the greatest stories of love and redemption this side of heaven. My family who gathers there every July are a love letter to me from God, and the savagely beautiful badlands are the envelope that letter is carried in. Delivered at times through sweat and tears yet received with gratitude all the same. I wouldn’t change any of it, yet you have definitely changed me, and I thank you for it.

Sincerely,
Amy Holmquist

p.s- except the rattlesnakes, I would change those, I hate snakes.

New York,

When I look at you from the window seat of a plane, it’s hard to grasp your vastness. A sprawl of buildings, apartments, skyscrapers, overpasses, tunnels, and parks—each one a marker in the countless lives you’ve shaped. Yet in the sea of everything, there’s one life, in one wretchedly outdated building, that has brought my heart a world of grief. Not because of anything he’s done, but because of how completely the everything that is you swallowed him up and made him lonely.

In another world, you would’ve built my dad up to be the classic rags-to-riches story. From “Do or Die Bed-Stuy” to the top of the food chain—from fixing the neighborhood block boy’s cars to owning his own repair shop. You were the land of promise, the American Dream. For a moment, naiveté blinded me to thinking it was within our reach.

How will I ever be able to forgive you for the story you authored? The one where my dad didn’t make it big. Where you ended his chance at a better life. There is no picking yourself up by the bootstraps when your new normal is an achingly repetitive day on loop at the nursing home, his new home.

If you press your ear to the walls of the Truss Hotel, I can guarantee the sound of my heart breaking still reverberates within the foundation from when I first got the call about what happened. There’s a car on the Q train that still gets a little too humid after all the tears my sister and I cried after our first visit to the nursing home. I don’t think the counter boy at Joe’s will forget how puffy my eyes were as my voice shook asking for a slice as I came to terms with our new normal.

I used to long for you, New York. You were where it all started. Where my ancestors laid roots at the prospect of a new life. Where my dad used to sneak me lemon cookies on the train and publicly dance at a whim to keep a smile on my face. Yet with each visit, my heart toward you hardened. The happiest memories of my hometown are now overshadowed by a nightmare that was actualized.

When I look at you from the window seat of a plane as I leave JFK once again, I breathe a sigh of relief. I still love you, but I can’t let you swallow me, too.

Major Depressive Disorder, alongside PTSD
A lifetime constant
The deterioration of one’s previous self
The giddy children once playing
Now the sorrowful adults
Held back by the mind, unable to heal
Getting drained by the leeches

The hospital had changed me
The person I was for eighteen years,
Eventually, and slowly, faded away

The emotions of dullness and nothingness,
A constant reminder at the despairing life I lived
The deafening waves cast a shadow upon me
The waves hoard the feelings that disable me
Incapable of betterment until the leeches were pulled off
Pulled off by the nurses, medication, and group sessions

The month long stench of bed-rotting,
Gets washed away by the non-hangable shower head
Using soap that dried out, yet exfoliated my skin
The oils and color washing out of my hair and onto the shower pan
Changing into a new set of paper thin clothes
I didn’t feel refreshed or clean – just exhausted
Yet, this was the first time I felt somewhat at peace in over a year

The wires of my brain got violently rearranged
Replaced and sparked in me
Latching onto what was left from before
I begin to see the seraphs reaching upon me
Lifting me up to the light they casted upon my shadows

The shadows I did not create,
But brought upon me as a child
Once my solace for myself,
Yet truly a prison that I had built

The seraphs began to change who I was,
Acting out the wishes of the holy
The seraphs are nothing, and yet everything,
They lifted me up at my lowest yet never existed to begin with
Never believing in Christ,
I witness the judgement casted down upon me as a child
And the forgiveness as an adult

I believe there are gods, but they don’t affect our lives
However, an act caused me to get sent to the doctor’s office,
To get sent to the emergency room,
To the Purple Zone,
To the Behavioral Health Unit.

This changed who I am today but not who I was
I, the broken porcelain, became a work of kintsugi
My life became a piece displaying wabi-sabi
The art of changing something broken into beauty
The art of imperfections
The beauty of the scars left on me, highlighted in gold

The once prepredicted obituary now voided,
Lost in the abyss of our pasts
Now become the celebrations of future life
New joys
New love
New passions
A new chance at life

First, life and death lays in childbearing, some hard choices must be decided. Secondly, I thought about how disappointed I had been all through this pregnancy had even contemplating ending the pregnancy. Now, right now his life or my life stands in the ballot. It was at this time I thought I should have been grateful. I knew this marriage was coming to an end and I didn’t want to bring another child into the mix. I guess I felt like I was between a rock and hard place. It was the spring of 1991 around 7:00 am and I woke up to discomfort. I told my then husband I don’t feel right, let’s go to the hospital.
Once there, of course, vitals are checked, then told I was in labor, however, I had not dilated enough. Mrs. Lane you need to start walking around in the hallway (I thank God I was not sent home). As I begin to walk pain I mean excruciating pain, pain that I didn’t experience with my other two children. My ex then told the nurse. I was hooked on a monitor for a while then I was told to walk again in the hallway. I tried to do what I was asked but again intense pain engulfed me. This time I cried no; no, it hurts so bad. Again, he went to the nurses’ station this time his tone was not as nice “something is wrong with her” immediately a monitor was placed over my stomach; blood pressure machine wrapped around my arm. As I lay in bed, I was closelyevaluated. One nurse left and when she returned, she was accompanied by a doctor. The doctor examined me and looked closely at the readings then told me and my ex what was going to happen. The baby is in distress and the heartbeat continues to decline as you walk, we will have to deliver by cesarean. No, I protested but due to the nature of my condition this was the only way. My ex was called outside of the room and given some papers to sign. The papers consist of content detailing if the surgery would go array. He came back into the room with a stare of fright in his eyes and told me what was proposed then asked what I should do. He was told that they would save the baby at all costs. I said so to hell with me just sign the documents. The preparation was done and at 11:45 am he was cut out of me; 7 lbs. and 15 ounces. This curly head handsome little boy. Looking at him and knowing that he was healthy I could’ve prayed for anything more what I dealt with early on in the pregnancy didn’t compare to my emotions at the time when I first saw.

Dear Chancellor & Leslie –
The southernmost cornerstone
Of the best place in the world.
When I was a girl,
You were the center of my universe.
But my how time has made
My Olympus to fall.
A corner once gilded with love
Had all the paint chipped away
Revealing your abundant faults.
A changing of keys and of deeds,
And even a sad fire burning,
You’re smaller than I remember,
But everyday I ride past
And look to you still.
To the home borne of troubled souls
Hoping you still had him
Nestled in your bosom.
Knowing he’d be safer with you
Than braving the world alone.

To my happy place,

You never fail to soothe me. Even when my inner world feels like it’s falling apart, simply being in your presence gives me the space to piece myself back together.

Though I’ve visited you countless times and in every season, I still find myself at a loss for words, completely enamored by your effortless beauty. The green grass, bouncing hills, and bountiful trees every which way. The wind swirling and dancing with the leaves, birds chirping and twirling in harmony, and the joyful sound of children laughing, playing, and skipping across the meadow. The sunset paints the sky with purples, pinks, and citrusy oranges, softly mirrored in the vast, shimmering water.

My time with you is my therapy. Nature grounds me, heals me and reminds me of who I am. There’s something so special about having a happy place you can return to whenever you need, and with you, I’ve created some of my most cherished memories. I’ve found my favorite spot at the top of the hill, beneath a big, majestic tree where sunlight peeks through and brightens up my day. Here, I sit and have a picnic, journal, play my ukulele, and follow whatever my heart desires.

I also meditate with you, visualizing roots growing and expanding from the soles of my feet down into the earth’s core. Sometimes, they intertwine with the roots of nearby trees, deepening the sense of connection and groundedness. I then imagine all my heaviness melting away into the soil, where all darkness is transmuted into light. I invite in and fully embrace the light that endlessly flows through nature, a light full of magical, abundant, and loving energy. I feel its presence envelop me, comforting and soothing every part of me. You have created this space where my mood can shift from stress and sadness to gratitude, love, and peace.

I love walking through your paths, reflecting on the deeper meaning of life. Your presence invites me to step away from the constant hustle and bustle of this stressful world. Every flower is a quiet reminder that there’s no need to rush in order to bloom. The stillness of the water radiates tranquility and ease, a natural remedy for my overwhelmed mind. I love that you help me slow down, be present, and admire the little things within all the beauty that surrounds me. I’ve experienced healing, clarity, and a gentle flow of creative breakthroughs in your presence. With you, I feel like I’m a part of something greater, as if the universe is walking hand in hand with me, gently supporting and encouraging me.

Thank you, my local park, for being my happy place, always and forever.

Dearest BF, There Was Purple in the Room

I awoke in a room smelling of baby powder, antiseptic cleaner and urine. My body hurt all over.

People in white lab coats, some in blue and others in polka dotted scrubs, filled the room. Something large was attached to the side of my throat, other plastic tubes went down my nose entering different parts of my body internally and a large plastic thing was in my mouth and shoved down my throat, gagging me. It was a nightmare come true.

I tried to cry out, reached up to jerk the obnoxious things off of me; then I heard a stern command of,
“Put her out!”

Several days later, I’ve now been told, I woke again. This time, the gag inducing intubation tube had been removed, but the rest of the paraphernalia was still solidly attached to my body. My hands were lightly fastened to the bed rails with some sort of bright, colorful cloths. I remember thinking, why it was that someone tried to make such an obscene item, pretty.

A nurse came in and asked me what I remembered. I answered in a voice hoarse and damaged, that I remembered greeting my best friend at my front door, she had driven from out of state to stay with me. We had talked about my upcoming spinal surgery scheduled for the next day, and then we went to our respective bedrooms to sleep. That was it.

I was told I had taken a bad turn after the surgery, and stopped breathing. I had been intubated over a week and extubated three times before I could breath on my own. I had been in the hospital over two weeks now. This also happened at the peak of the COVID pandemic, which meant no visitors, period. Not my children, grandson, my neighbors or my best friend, who had gone home over a week ago back to her own family. I fell into a stupor. I did not want to talk to these people I did not know, I shut down.

For days I did not speak to anyone, they even brought a psychiatrist in. He diagnosed me with PTSD, prescribed meds and left. I hated this very cold, completely white room without curtains on a window that faced a stark, windowless building. There was no color, nothing green and not even a picture on the wall.

My only comfort was my Native American Spirit Box, for me, a religious symbol of my Animistic Spirituality. At one point, the staff tried to take it away from me, while I was still unable to walk, for safety reasons, they said.

An angel in purple appeared in the doorway, her face livid red and her voice clear. A tiny woman, swathed in a purple dress, wrapped in a vivaciously colored purple scarf and wearing the most beautiful purple crystal necklace I had ever seen, walked in. She wore a mantle of power, dwarfing every one else in attendance. They parted, allowing her near my bed. Her dark eyes flashed at all of them as she ordered them to leave the room. They complained, but complied.

She knew! She understood how sacred was my Box. Lifting my blankets, she tucked it in beside me, leaned over and told me she’d take care of the problem, and she did! My purple savior had worked on several Indian Reservations over her long medical career, and she recognized the depth of my faith and my need to keep my Box near.

Over the next few weeks, she coached and cajoled me on how to get better in order to get the tubes removed from my nose and the massive intravenous structure sewed onto my neck, out too. Eat, drink, rest, move around and smile. It was not easy, but with her encouragement, I eventually escaped from most of the intrusive medical instruments of torture.

Soon her time allotted to me, came to an end. How thrilled I was, when I received a call from her the next morning and we spoke like old friends. This continued every morning for the next two weeks. Finally, I was discharged, but had to go to a rehabilitation facility. I could not yet, take care of myself. My lovely, purple angel handled all of the arrangements and when it was time for my final discharge from that facility; my purple angel and her husband picked me up, carried me to their home and cared for me for weeks.

Though I hated that hospital room, and still do, I have to give it thanks for delivering my purple angel to me. Without her, I know in my heart I would have perished. My purple saving angel is now my very best friend, thank you cold, white hospital room!

The beige and brown welcome sign outside of our front door is cute

And in vain

A dormant formality

If you can even call it that

A supposed homey touch to my parents’ quaint abode

And yet, outside of close family

No one may come in

This time it is because of size

A small apartment squishing in a family of four

And the belongings of those family

Bags and bags wrapped each month

Instead of each year

The “Mayers” name has become synonymous with “Claus” for the Salvation Army

“Minimalism” as well

At least as minimalist as a 20 year-old young woman and a 53 year-old older woman with an extensive wardrobe can be

Even before the downsize, maximizing space has become a familial way of life

The prior townhouse which was almost the precursor for our next dwelling

You would maximize space by minimizing guests

An alien practice

Given that in the dwelling prior, which had three floors worth of space

4 including the basement

5 including the big backyard with the wide patio,

Hosted many gatherings and overnight endeavors that would make you question the entirety of our current behaviors

A past practice that started all the way at our first domicile

The only place for a long time I was truly able to call home

Even in fond memory

A home that taught me love

A home that taught me family-oriented care

A home that taught me intelligence is bliss

Gave me a scholarly basis before I found out that it comes in other forms

A home that taught me to embrace my child-like pleasures

And the kind personality that comes with those joys

Those qualities became the gateway for me to grow as a person and know when to put myself first

Now, in my current “home”, my family uses “minimalism” to breed ease

For myself, I would rather maximize my qualities, my pleasures and kindred tethers in anyway I can

Just as my first home welcomed me to do for myself

Dear Barringer,

You gave me so much. Barringer, you gave me love. Barringer, you gave me peace! I know God was there and you would care for me. Barringer, you showed me how to be a woman. Barringer; I learned to survive. Barringer, you showed me one of the most important things. Oh Barringer, you took me in, you kept me warm. Barringer, you showed me so many things and how I needed to perform. You gave me so many tasks. I wasn’t sure what I was able to do. Barringer, you showed me a life and then where I could come home to. I’m here and you told me all the mistakes I made as a mother, as a wife. Even when I struggled, you showed me a place where I knew I belonged. Through the right or the wrong, you were there. I put up a fight and I knew it was worth to fight for. You help me through. I’m so glad I got to be here. I’m so glad I got to love you so, no matter what I am going through and no matter what I see I’m glad you were there. Through parenting, through wifing and through journeys of love. Knowing that joy. I love that I experienced peace. I find it because that’s what God allows me to have. In a place where I find so much. I AM thankful because it is a place where I learned, and found finally that I love me!!!

Forever Grateful,
ME

Dear Ireland,

Over the rock-laden hills,
through the scrubby grass
and across the wild seas
you called my name,
you called to me alone.
You offered up your solace and solitude
as a refuge for reflection and healing,
holding up a mirror to my soul
And asking, who are you?
And I did not know.

But each day as I climbed
to the peak of Dun Aonghasa
gazing out over the hillsides,
listening to the cows,
those cows who are not afraid of heights
and to the waves crashing upon the cliffs,
those waves whose persistence
have shaped a landscape.
It is here where shattered little pieces of my heart
found their way home.

I too had been out with lanterns
looking for myself.

Here on Inis Mor’s hillsides,
across rocky ridges
and over sparkling seas
I lay still,
the haunting emptiness inside of me opening up,
inviting me to recognize and honor the gifts within me.

It was time to lose the lanterns
in order for my own light to shine,
to see myself through a new lens
and to rediscover my place in this world.

Dear Ireland,
I came to you with two faces,
the one I showed the world. . .
and the one in the mirror.
I have heard your whispers.
I close my eyes and finally hear the voice,
the one that has been calling me home.

Dear Yereance ave,

What a time we had.

There were memories that took place within those four walls that marked a monumental point of my path.

I remember stepping into the second floor of my first own apartment with my 4-year-old daughter thinking “this is life.” 

I was finally free! 

Free from dealing with critical attitudes and colliding of heads 

I was free from the roaches climbing on my bed,

I was free!

Little did I know that freedom was coming, but not in the way I imagined. 

I was free from others, but I wasn’t free from ME.  

I was free from yelling and complaints, but I wasn’t free from the sorrow and the pain that looked me in the mirror day after day.

And in those moments where I couldn’t brace my daughters crying and my pain simultaneously

I ran back to mother to drop my child off so I can live my life on Yereance ave.

Drinking with my friends and somehow me, the person who was the life of the party, was slowly flatlining. 

With every shot of Bacardi and inhale of the freshly rolled up weed 

Joy was backwashed in the shot glass 

The wind blew my purpose through the trees.

Until one day I lied to my boss and said I wasn’t feeling well and made a decision to work from home. 

My sister and I were in this 800 sq ft box smoking in our zone 

until I got up to take a shower.

As the water flowed from the shower head 

I heard a voice whisper 

“You have a destiny for greater things.”

I thought to myself, “surely I am high” me? Created and destined for more? So the voice I ignored. 

and suddenly I hear the voice speak again 

The voice repeated, “You are destined and intricately made for more,” shaking me to my core. My slowly failing heart felt revived because this time, I listened. 

It was as if the divine silenced all the noise around me so that I could hear and receive the truth of my value

It was as if my higher self stepped out from the future timeline to tell me it’s okay. It will get better if you decide today to change your ways.

 Wisdom was speaking in my very eardrum, releasing the sound of true freedom. 

It was then that I no longer tried to escape myself. Instead, I decided to face myself! 

It was because of you, Yereance ave that I began the journey to discovering my value, my identity, my purpose. 

So Yereance ave, I thank you for the doors you opened and the home you created for that short period. Because it was then when the initiation of my power began. The journey of me coming home to this exact place and time where I am truly home, the home within me.

Dear Binghamton,
 

You don’t owe me anything.

When I first came to you, I had nothing more than a Subaru full of my most prized possessions and my two daughters. We scurried toward you in the night’s dead to escape what had been my prison for the last six and a half years, living out a sentence for the crimes I had committed in my youth and leaving with scars, holes and a battered ego all held together with the thinnest threads of string crafted out of the budding love I was growing for myself.

You were both my end and my beginning.

You taught me love. Joy. Righteous anger. You opened my eyes to what the world is actually like. In you, I rediscovered my passion for music and poetry. I found love in the little things. Blue birds chirping outside my windows and opening peanut butter jars for squirrels. The dark eyes of a loving man. The betrayal of a new friend. Beautiful moments that all bring me to a place inside myself that I would never have found before.

You made me learn safety in myself. To practice discernment, to use my voice for love.

Binghamton, you have taught me so much. More than Hardeeville, Baltimore, Silver Spring and Columbia combined.

Binghamton, you made me come alive.
 

Thank you,

Miss. Imani

Dear Billings, Montana,

My new home. The city I have grown to love over the past two years.

I had never even considered your existence. A phone call in March 2023 revealed to me that the Bible college that had accepted me was relocating there. Therefore, I, too, was moving there.

You were a city to which I had never been. Still, I spent two days driving across the country towards you, experiencing a myriad of emotions: relief, sadness, fear, apprehension, anxiety, anticipation, excitement, to name a few.

You were the city I drove toward, knowing there wasn’t a single person there who knew of my existence. Strangely enough, the thought relieved me more than I would have imagined. Driving toward you, I felt the heavy blanket of sadness for all I was leaving behind, yet knew I needed the change. You were the light at the end of the dark tunnel that was 2022. You offered the hope of a comforting change.

You were the city I drove toward, facing the fear of the future as I apprehensively pondered the uncertainty of a new start. A new start for a burnt-out teacher, taking a year to be a student again herself. I drove on as the anxiety crept in, as it often does. Would Bible college be everything I was hoping it would be? Could I make any friends? Would I find a job? Were the Montana mountains really greener, or would I feel alone as I did in Oklahoma?

And you were the city I drove toward, full of anticipation and excitement for the major life change I was making. For the first time in years, I felt optimistic, as though my life was about to be better. This hopeful yearning was enough to drown out the fears and anxiety. Beyond ready for a new adventure, all I desired was to blend in with the other students, focus on God, and heal in peace.

I’ll never forget the moment I crossed over the Montana state line on August 21, 2023. I felt a weight lift from my shoulders as I admired the mountains on either side of the road. When I saw your sign, I knew I was almost there, almost to you, my new beginning. The word ‘Billings’ promised much at that moment.

In your city, I started tutoring college students in writing during my studies. This caused me not to blend in (as I’d planned), but to stand out to professors. You were the city where I became an adjunct writing professor (something I had dreamed of for 10 years) under the mentorship of the most talented writing professor I’ve ever known.

I realized I did not want to leave you when the allotted year was coming to a close. I made you my permanent home in 2024 (at least for now). You are the city I wake up in every morning, feeling so thankful to live here. The city I’ve fallen in love with, the city that gave me back my spark. You’ve brought incredible opportunities into my life, both for my career and my personal life.

Billings, Montana. You were an inhale of fresh air for a woman who was suffocating. In your cold, thin mountain air, I finally felt as though I could breathe. To someone feeling the chill of solitude, you were a warm, comforting blanket. You were the bandage God used to mend my broken heart. You’ve brought green sparkle back to my eyes, and my laugh has returned with fervor.

Billings, Montana. My new home. I wish I had been as happy in Oklahoma as I am under your bluffs. However, I realize if I had been, I would have never driven across the country seeking the refuge of your majestic mountains.

Thank you, Billings.

—Mandi

Style Score-89%

Dear Columbia, I was never supposed to walk your halls. Never to experience the pain and suffering that came with you. Even through the trauma of it all, that experience changed me for the better. You never dimmed my light, you actually brightened it. It was you who taught me how to stand tall through moments of great pain and controversy. You held up a mirror to me to show that while like a broken crayon, I can still create a masterpiece within myself. I was able to piece together the puzzle of my life and frame a work of art. Thank you for turning my moment of perpetuity into power.
Love, Jalona

To the hospital who held his last heartbeat,

You were the place where time stopped making sense.

I remember the way the air in your halls tasted. Stale coffee and antiseptic, the metallic tang of fear resting on my tongue. The way the clocks above every nurse’s station seemed to tick louder the longer we stayed, as if counting down to something none of us wanted to name. I remember the fluorescent lights that never dimmed, how they made everything look slightly ghostly.

You were the place where I learned the language of machines. The steady whoosh of the ventilator, the jagged spikes of the oxygen monitor, the way alarms could shatter the illusion of peace in half a second. I learned to read the faces of the doctors before they spoke- the slight tightening around their eyes, the way they’d glance at the floor just a beat too long. I memorized the creak of the chair beside his bed, the one that molded to my body after so many nights spent upright, listening to the symphony of his breathing.

You were the place where I became an expert in small horrors. The way his skin bruised from IVs, blooming purple and yellow like fading sunsets. The sound of his cough, wet and ragged, as if his lungs were tearing themselves apart. The way his wedding ring tightened on his finger when he gained weight from all the steroids, how I quietly brought it home once it couldn’t fit anymore, how I pretended not to notice.

But you were also the place where I learned the vulnerability of quiet kindness. The nurse who brought me graham crackers and peanut butter at 3 a.m. because she knew I wouldn’t eat unless someone made me. The cleaning lady who paused her mopping to squeeze my shoulder when she saw me crying in the stairwell. The doctor who didn’t look away when my vision blurred, her face softening with something like grief.

I hated you for your indifference—for the way your elevators still dinged cheerfully while my world collapsed, for the way life marched on in your gift shop and cafeteria as if nothing was wrong. But I also owe you for the moments of grace you allowed. The morning sunlight that spilled across his bed just before he woke, illuminating his face for a few perfect seconds. The way the night nurses moved like shadows in soft light, smoothing fresh blankets over my husband’s shoulders, pressing a warmed one into my hands without being asked. The social worker who handed me tissues and didn’t flinch when I screamed into her chest.

You were the place where I learned how much love could hurt. The place I learned that grief isn’t a single blow but a thousand small losses- the last time he said my name, the last time he held my hand, the last time I helped him sip water through a straw. Where I learned that hospitals don’t just hold bodies, they hold entire universes of hope and despair, sometimes in the same room.

I don’t know if places can be haunted, but you haunt me. Not with ghosts, but with memories—the scent of his shampoo on the pillow I brought from home, the sound of his laugh echoing down your too-bright halls, the weight of his head on my shoulder during the rare moments when the pain meds let him rest.

You were the place where I lost him. But you were also the place where I loved him, fiercely and completely, until the very last second.

-The Woman Who Learned to Breathe Again in Your Hallways

For a trip to Colorado
By Kiki Pape

All I can say is two words.
Two syllables
That ended up defining my one future.

Thank you.

I want to thank Colorado for my passion
I want to thank Colorado for my smiles
I want to thank Colorado for my memories

By accident, you introduced me to an escape
That led a teenage girl on a journey to apply for peace of mind.

Snow always felt silent.
To a crazy mind from Michigan that needs a break.

Visitors who have come and gone from 114,
There is one family that never will.