My home is a cabin
on the edge of a current,
between the shore and the mountains,
guarded by tall, frightening trees
green with life and loving.

My home is a cabin
with steps leading up from
the barnacles bestrewed on the rocks
visited by small crabs with little claws
and my feet with little toes.

My home is a cabin
with a deck built of creaking wood
with crispy and wet flip flops,
grouped together in a sandy embrace,
whispering of fireworks and s’mores.

My home is a cabin
in the back of my mind
where only memories keep it lit,
the warm, orange light glowing beneath
the front door, always leading me back.

Poem by Jessica Grace Sparks

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A picture of the cabin my family would call home during the summer. It’s no longer ours; I have not been there for years.


First Love

I keep my first love in a tin box,
On the top shelf of my closet,
Where I need to stand on the tips of my toes,
And nudge with the tips of my fingers,
To bring it down, back down.

Sometimes it comes down smoothly,
Perfectly balanced between heavy and not so much.
Other times it slips through my fingers,
And tumbles down; the lid falling unto the carpet,
Memories consuming the floor whilst emptiness creeps in,
And I’m reminded of all that could have been,
But what will not be.

Poem by Jessica Grace Sparks

*This poem is a year old. I was hesitant to post it but think it needs release. There’s nothing left now of this first love but memories and new (true) love has filled in all the parts of me that were wanting. It’s amazing; It’s only when you finally find the “one” who inspires, motivates, supports, and loves you, regardless of all the messy parts, that you really discover what it is to love someone wholeheartedly and how it feels to be loved the same way in return. My first love was hollow compared to what I know now.