01/01/2026
For most of my life, I've been a private poet—words arriving on morning runs, between patient visits, during meditation. I'd write them down and tuck them away, keeping them safe in solitude.
This fall, something shifted. A quiet voice urged me to share my words.
I hesitated—it felt unnerving to open something so private to the world.
I took a deep breath and submitted my work to a few journals, including three winter haiku to The Dewdrop, a publication I deeply admire.
Eight days later, the editor responded saying all three were outstanding and he'd never faced this wonderful dilemma—he couldn't choose which to publish. So he's publishing all of them.
Beginning the new year as a published poet feels both terrifying—and exactly right.
Thank you for witnessing this step with me.
