I grew up Northeast Ohio. Then, I grew into Northeast Ohio and learned to love its rust, abandoned factories, rivers, and Lake Erie. I was an urban kid in love (still in love) with the pockets of parks sprinkled around me. I craved, still crave, the quiet connections I find with the wildlife found in those parks. But I also craved, still crave, the ability to walk to libraries, local bookstores, galleries, and the strangers that fill those spaces. I loved to read as a child, but had to read out loud to comprehend what I was reading. That made falling in love with poetry, its music and imagery, easy.

I remember sitting on the floor of the Akron Public Library and reading Whitman. I was probably twelve years old. I don't remember if I "understood" what I was reading, Leaves of Grass, but I remember feeling less alone in the world. I stole the book* because it kept me close to myself and the planet I love. I’m not always sure where life is leading me, but, like I learned on the floor of the library, I follow it with fierce curiosity. That’s why I read; that’s why I write.

*I have since returned the book; please support your local library.