A Mindful Poem 

In the brief tranquil reprieve
just before dust.
You don’t notice how
high the wind is
or the bitter in the cold

The night may carry a
satchel of bramble.
But for now you close
your eyes and listen to
the music of the air.

Focusing on the amber length
of the hour.
Your dormant heart made
melodic like a harp touched
by skilled hands

You realize you deserve more
than shuttering light and
shifting shadows. 

You who are besotted with
the fever of a waltz
And moonlit rivers
on the way to sea.

No matter how awkward your
gait, you know grace is
found in a soul that won’t
be nettled and a mind
made beautiful by the swarm
of fireflies.

You, this lady and warrior
who gets by on Southern
charm and the rhythm of
a drum that beats in three-quarter time.
Here. where prim
and proper meets sas and grit.

You who are singularity lovely
but hideous too.
A mess of colors, hungry
You refuse to live a sepia life.

For a moment as you watch
the sun set, you don’t dwell
on failed arithmetic or Dostoevsky
and his sullen things.

Instead, you reflect on the wonder
of aliveness and compose yourself
in a poem, composure found in a view
redefined . You rearrange the disquieting
into a sliver canopy of serenity.
Finding peace in your eccentricity.

-Tosha Michelle

My latest cover-Sign of the Times with a little Human thrown in


Shadow Dancing

Be the howling moon
or the quiet wind.

Be Orion and his
starlight shield.

Be the road with no
street signs.

Be waylaid plans;
the lost map.

Arrive on the sidewalk
without knowing where
you are going.

Be the lightning bug.
The crickets,
telling secrets to
the air.

Be the couple walking
into the privacy of

Be their watch. Be
their hands.

Be the cafe always
open late, slide
into the flow of
the coffee.

Be the noodle slip
off the novice’s
chopsticks. The
soup disappearing
in the bowl

Be the siren in the
distance, the choir
music filtering
through the door of
St. Michael’s

Be the
patrons leaving the

Be the drink in their
glass. The holy water
they swim in.

Turn left.
Turn right.

Be the narrow streets,
the high beams on a
city bus. The cab called
they waved off.

Be the cracks in
the sidewalk, the steep
stairs leading 5 floors up.

Be the bright apartment
and the glow from the
lamp light coming through
the window. Want to be
that glow. See two bodies

Be the shadow behind the

-Tosha Michelle

The Last of It


I’m always sure enough of
your rain to walk into it.

I wander, and your downpour

You light the way
with laments and oxygen.

By nightfall the wind has
scattered you so that the
stars can peak through.

By dawn, you are the
darkness that has passed
through my eyes.

I see your shadow
stenciled in by the sun.

There’s a translucence
between us, as memories
vaporize, steaming away
the last of the rain.

-Tosha Michelle


It began when I transcribed
the temporal glint in his eyes
as light. Content with my
my own imaginings.

Quuck to accept my own deceit.
Hungry for a time only for desire
sliced in two.

I failed to noticed when he didn’t
take the knife
And how the sky dimmed as it gave
into longing.

The bruised fruit pulled from the branch
left to adorn the grave.
Now I collect the seeds that
remain in a mason jar

My heart painted blue.
My hands stained from
the pickings.

-Tosha Michelle

The Chill Factor


I just want a corner to lie
down in.

Pull the covers over
my heart.

Let it get buried in

Somewhere underground
where the coordinates get lost

A hideout from worry and the
slow burn out of life.

My calendar whited out.
My fingers too cold to hold.
My lips too raw to kiss the end note.

And I can live in the moment

A frozen vessel alone
in the stillness.

My soul encased in a thousand
miles of Arctic air.

-Tosha Michelle