After the House Learned to Speak

While I was writing The House as Witness, I thought I was building a book. I didn't realize I was building something that would eventually belong to other people.

The poems came together slowly. Some were written after long shifts in the emergency department. Others found their way onto the page while I was traveling, or in the quiet hour before the rest of my family woke up. I revised them over months, sometimes years, never quite sure they belonged together until, one day, they did.

When the box from Quillkeepers Press arrived, I opened it with the same mix of excitement and disbelief I imagine every writer feels the first time they hold a book that used to exist only on a screen.

That was the moment the house learned to speak.

Once a book is out in the world, it stops belonging entirely to its author. Readers bring their own lives to the pages. They notice poems I never expected them to notice. They linger over lines I almost cut. I've heard from readers who saw their own parents in these poems, or recognized houses that looked nothing like mine but carried the same weight. Others have simply written, "I saw myself."

Those messages have stayed with me far longer than any sales numbers ever could.

Looking back, I realize I wasn't really writing about houses. I was writing about the people who leave them behind, and the strange way memory keeps furnishing rooms long after they've emptied. The house became a way to think about grief, family, love, and all the ordinary moments that quietly shape us.

The poems don't offer answers so much as company. If they've done that for even a handful of readers, then they've done exactly what I hoped they would.

Since the book was published, it's felt like a full season. New poems and essays have found homes in journals I admire. I've been fortunate to receive Pushcart and Best of the Net nominations, and this year one of my pieces was selected for Best Microfiction 2026. Those moments have meant a great deal, but they all grew from the same place: sitting down and doing the work, one piece at a time.

If you've already read The House as Witness, thank you. Every reader is a gift, especially for a small poetry collection finding its place in the world.

If you have a few minutes to leave a review on Goodreads or Amazon, I'd be incredibly grateful. Reviews really do help books like mine find new readers.

I spent years writing these poems mostly alone.

It still amazes me that they now live on so many other bookshelves.

Thank you for giving them a place to land.