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When Spider-Man comes to your house,
you unlock the deadbolt and brace yourself.
He has to clear the entryway at a full sprint,
and you don’t want to be collateral damage.

When Spider-Man comes to your house,
you better have sourdough toast, pickles,
and sparkling water on the counter.
Apparently, saving the neighborhood
requires a very specific diet.

When Spider-Man comes to your house,
he will absolutely chase your rabbit around the backyard.
He’ll get burrs stuck to his polyester muscles,
sit in the hammock to pick them off,
and roast your gardening skills.

When Spider-Man comes to your house,
he might peel back his mask just far enough to breathe,
expose his secret identity,
and clobber you at dominoes
until he literally rolls off his chair laughing.

When Spider-Man comes to your house,
you will notice the exact moment
his shins match the length of yours.
You’ll look at his massive feet,
look at the trail of stuffed animals leading into the hallway,
and accept reality:
A superhero is in your living room right now.

So you forget the gardening. You ignore the toys.

And you get on the floor.

*7/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.

I’ve not felt patriotic in years. After seeing a terrible car accident this morning and reading of yet another mass shooting, my mood is far from celebratory. I decided to photograph my day in an attempt to combat the anger, disappointment, and sadness at fully realizing freedom in America has always been selective. It’s getting harder and harder to cling to the hope things will get better.

Here’s a look at what brings me joy and gives me the energy to keep fighting—my sister’s new puppy, playing with my sweet nephew, dominoes, fresh tomatoes, swimming with my mom and aunt, and sparklers.

Thank you so much for your support.