register of beloved things

chandeliers in quite ordinary rooms

dried lavender bundles tied with ribbon

the weight of a camera in my hand

late afternoon naps

hot creamy coffee

clouds, fog, mist, especially at dawn. dusk. or night. or day.

blush pink, secretly

champagne without reason

deboarding planes having arrived at my final destination

hidden chairs in bookstores


the constant daydream of Paris

the persistent daydream of owning a home

the everlasting daydream of endless exploration

the heat of New York City streets at night

photographs of hands, of lovers, of shadows

the ringlets at the nape of my neck, so unlike the rest of my hair

the idea that I could possibly still learn French by ear

dirty mirrors, old mirrors, mirrors

a-frame houses in the woods

lace curtains

a heavy breeze

metal watering cans

still carousels in the rain from afar

delicate papers which might crack if touched

my wide hips + thick thighs, and all their slowness

stolen kisses

my daughter’s pursed lips when she pinches back a smile

her whole entire being and the mere existence of her soul

velvet furniture in deep gem tones


writing by hand, in cursive - one delightful product of a pre-digital education

sun-kissed shoulders

Frida Kahlo, & ornate, broken hearts

the elegance of wearing all black

earrings that dangle

soft jazz in the morning

mantles and postcards that hold one another close

90s hip hop, with the hiccup of real drums and the city on its back

the expectation of elegant excellence on old movie channels, with its reminders of early mornings curled up before the house had awoken