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routine, a list poem
(nine steps for tuesday mornings and lazy sundays) 1. The alarm goes off each morning at precisely six. It is winter and the Sun has not yet risen. I wonder about dawn and the possibility of the Sun...
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a 6:30 day, a poem
(how I remember my grandfather) I woke up today at 5:44, then again at 6:15 to the smooth jazz piano of my alarm; rolled to my side and knew: Today is a 6:30 day. I stare at the white stripe above my...
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decay, free verse/free write
I pity my mother sometimes. I left her alone this evening at the dinner table. I walked over ice to the bus stop, trying to light a damp cigarette without slipping, smoke slipping from my lips. My...
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Carnage (American dream), a poem
The immigrant progeny waits patiently, maddeningly; we pick at our skin, peel at the color to give us the illusion of ivory. Proud nationalists, with their flags and their yachts and their legacy,...
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To whom it may concern: (a poem)
We were nothing more than flicked ash off a cigarette. But I still loved you better (bitter). I loved you in the spring - kind, quiet, patient and in the winter - biting, furious, distraught. I loved...
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Brother, a poem
i. As I neatly fold wrinkled fabric into immaculate squares and stack them in a cardboard box, layers of duct tape messily pressed onto the bottom, I can’t help but think of how impersonal this feels....
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written a while back for the prompt honeymoon
We are standing here, now, at a crossroads, feigned timidity and true cowardice, hesitation, inertia. If I were the little girl I was four years ago, I’d tear apart flower petals, mentally checking,...
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c. 2012
if i could draw you i would brush the smooth curve of your spine away with wispy charcoal and kiss the final detail of your smile once with my last breath
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noli me tangere, a poem
noli me tangere / your presence is painful / i breathe you and feel the cold in my chest / touch me not / i can feel the weight of you on top of me / your passive eyes and heavy fingers / and the way...
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the saints, a poem
(written 3/21/13) The ancient song echoes, slowly, slipping somberly into the distance, fading, the intersection of time and space, crawling, crumbling, and then - nothing. The moon is deaf to the...
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