“every poem is a confession” - Borges

a handprint
on the cave of our lives

whether anyone sees or cares

a simple affirmation of a speck
of stardust made manifest singing

the scenic attractions
of the inevitable

I was here, I am here

why not roar.


Priya Huffman holds an undergraduate degree in Philosophy and Psychology, a masters in Psychology, both from Trinity College, Dublin, Ireland. She has worked as a house cleaner, a construction site supervisor, a massage therapist, has led personal growth workshops internationally, and has spent 35 years as a Jungian psychotherapist. Priya is a potter and poet who lives in Boulder, Colorado, where she leads women’s dream groups and Cortes Island, British Columbia, where she tends a fruit orchard.


I would like to tell you what captures me now, rather than what has formed me up to now.

I’m in a privileged time of life when there are many more years behind me than in front and I find myself surprisingly regarding each new day in wonder. The fact that every time I turn on the tap in these precarious climate times and there is still precious water pouring out, both cold and hot, I take as is a gift, not a given, as is the fact that we have light by a flick of the wrist. What I’ll not ever take for granted again is a roof that doesn’t leak or a home that is warm and dry.

I have gratitude that I have a home at all, one that radiates beauty and a sense of belonging that soothes my immigrant heart. A home that also houses my beloved husband, as well as our two adored doggies, with their inherent glee at being alive and their unfailing excitement for morning cuddles and treats.

What endlessly delights me are those I love, be it family, friends or the passing look from a stranger in a flash moment of pure recognition; the smell of a yarn store, the images of all the sweaters I will never have enough years left to make, not to mention the many porcelain mugs and platters that will probably not get thrown, and the many bud poems that I carry around with me, all safely tucked inside my wings, living so cozily next to all the many written and circulated poems, the generous array of pots and bowls we use daily to eat and serve from, and the many knitted sweaters that wrap around me and other loved ones, on cold days providing both comfort and warmth.

What touches me always are the remaining animals that still inhabit the planet with us, as much as the absence of the many already extinct that break my heart and propel me into various levels of heartbreak.  The colors of even the blandest sunrises, and the moon that rises through the high triangular window above the kitchen sink, plum center when she is full, the taste of chocolate, fresh mangos and cherries are the stuff of fulfilment. It is after all a confusing time to be alive.

What intrigues me most in this ‘one wild and precious life’ as Mary Oliver said, is how each of us chose to live it, or love it, or show up for it, to engage in or disengage with both its glory and pain.

I hope you enjoy and find resonance with the images, poems and musings housed on this site.