For K

Here you are, a nine-year-old sex worker in the walmart parking lot. Here you are, in a sequined red shirt -- flimsy, translucent, bare-ly hiding the chest you aren’t old enough to grow. Here you are, nine years old. You are nine years old. Once, in that sheltered place, bumbling through heart and soul onContinue reading "For K"

wait

I learned to wait in Kenya, sitting in the shade of trees, being, breathing, until the time comes. Sometimes for the matatu to finally guzzle and cajole itself to a start, sometimes for the quorum to slowly make their way over the bulbous stones to the collection of chairs wobbling on uneven ground circled intoContinue reading "wait"

to be divided/whole

Bewhere your feet are,I’m told.Yet as the plane sweepstoward Kisumu, rifted valleybelow, universearound, descending towardhome,I find my mindresting notin Kenya, but justwhere my feet are:air,among clouds,at the shelter far away,that place of refugeto whom life has entrustedviolence,with the little boywho thrashed angry,body consumed with ragebigger than bones,as he looked to the sky, wonderedaloud‘what do cloudsContinue reading "to be divided/whole"

What of mournings

I wrote this poem on September 8, 2015, six days after Aylan Kurdi died during his family's flight across the Aegean Sea, and photos of his body opened the world's eyes, sparking 'this suffering must stop' statements: What of mournings i Do you think he was afraid? Or maybe...

who seek refuge

  These are snippets of stories of some very small few of the humans who seek refuge in this world, whose paths I briefly walked alongside and whose lives I, alongside and within the incredible community of humans volunteering, did my best to care for while on Lesvos, and whose wellbeing is bound to myContinue reading "who seek refuge"

One Week on Lesvos: Snapshots

I've been volunteering on the Greek Island of Lesvos for seven days now, with four remaining before I return to the United States on December 21. What follows are snapshots of my time here, as I've worked in various refugee camps and with Lighthouse, an organization on the island's north coast which receives boats asContinue reading "One Week on Lesvos: Snapshots"

living light

(Where in the world is Callie? There was a slight change of plans: it has now been nearly two weeks since we arrived in Rome, Italy, where Mariah and I are volunteering full-time at the Joel Nafuma Refugee Center and at Centro Baobab, two organizations that welcome, support, and care for refugees, migrants, asylum-seeker, humansContinue reading "living light"

The Privilege To Call This An Adventure

The large bus is careening and weaving, whipping over the twisting, compact roads. Occasionally, another bus barrels around a corner and down a hill from the opposite direction, and both vehicles are made to slow so that they might peacefully pass the other, only some four or five inches between the two, squeezed against theContinue reading "The Privilege To Call This An Adventure"

Irish Skies, Soliciting The Soul’s Response

Written while gazing out the window of a bus journeying from Northern Ireland, where we have just spent three days, to Galway and Lehinch, on the west coast of Ireland, where we will spend the next ten days.  I. Sun glides, glints,  gallops across cliffy coast  line, shrouding ground  in gold, then turns fire- some,Continue reading "Irish Skies, Soliciting The Soul’s Response"

Lake District: A Dialogue Poem

*This is a dialogue poem, to be read across the page as one poem, then down the left and right columns as their own poems. ** The words on the left are a quote by Leslie Kaminoff and Amy Matthews, which I stumbled into reading this morning on the train platform just before leaving theContinue reading "Lake District: A Dialogue Poem"

Stand Still

 "There is time to stop and watch the bubbles," Mariah said earlier today, as we sat on a bench on the south bank of the Thames river, watching two men dip large pieces of rope, tied to the end of tall wooden sticks, into a large bucket of soap, waving billowing bubbles through the wind. Continue reading "Stand Still"

imperfect thanks

One evening in February of 2014, as I was leaving Senegal after a complex, and full, and growing, and straight-up difficult six months as Callie Daba Sarr, I sat on a rooftop and I wrote a thank you letter. I recently found myself again on a rooftop, this time in Kalamazoo, Michigan and felt a need deep beneath my sternum to again say thank you.

One Year Has Now Passed: A Letter to Moses

Moses, on this day, I don't know where or how you are, but I do know that after having lived the extraordinary honor of being a mama to you, I am now grateful to carry you, carry your joy and your resilience, carry the sincerity of your smile and the light of your little life, with me as I fiercely love this world, so that all whose paths may cross mine might be graced with some small sense of what it is to have loved and been loved by you.

That is Something

I have witnessed suffering. I have seen horrible things. I have watched indescribable pain. I turned around; there two babies lay next to one another on the bed, silenced by pain, save for slight mewing. Their bandages were removed and I glanced twice, three times, four before I could comprehend what was missing: their tinyContinue reading "That is Something"

in the trees

I. This summer, I can be found working nine to five in a windowless cubicle, in the corner of a break room, in the basement corner of a very old and dark administration building. And in those hours, I am doing work about which I am passionate, in which I believe, and of which IContinue reading "in the trees"

six months intentionally whole

It’s been almost six months to the day since I’ve given presence to this blog. It’s not that I haven’t written; I have written much in 2015 (see the ‘poetry’ pages for my most recent work). But often a blog posting seems to require a beginning and an end, polished sentences and verb agreement, andContinue reading "six months intentionally whole"

172 pages

Last Monday morning, I printed, hole-punched, bound, and turned in to my advisor the 172 pages of my senior thesis. I began thinking about this project five years ago,before I even committed to attend Kalamazoo College, as a prospective student excited and intrigued by its possibilities. I began to consider its subject four years agoContinue reading "172 pages"