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Category Archives: Poetry
feverfew
my mother told me to swallow pain with eight ounces of water each day. we used to look at the sun till our eyes burnt and only when the flame started to melt our fingers, we could flinch back. I’m … Continue reading
Ladies Nights
In dive bars we scoot our barstools closer so the other patrons won’t overhear when we whisper about the girls from out of town tiptoeing in their high heels on the uneven cobblestone streets. We taste each other’s cocktails, the … Continue reading
Adolescent unit
i. (before) Your sorrow not knowing itself, just outside of my reach – I want to inhale it from your bent form, to siphon the sting and to know – My child born in light I would sing you to … Continue reading
Cavern
1 A half-mile more, and the strand peters out; eroded cliffs, stumps of the primal sierra, ram against the ocean full tilt; the vacant headlands mount in cyclopean stairs, furred by stiff-necked ferns; ashen beaches shrink to frazzled hems, blackening … Continue reading
Tributary
The trees undressed for winter And the mirrors prepared for silence. The eye of the lens blinked at last So now it’s time to rest for a long moment Under an earth that bathes nightly In blankets of stars. The … Continue reading
You Said Dad Broke Down the Door
I remember the broken latch differently all the times you repeated that story and then you repeated the story differently rubber mallet floating above his hands raised over spilled milk with the ladder jutting between pool water and my drowning … Continue reading
a vase of burl wood
unusable unstable rocking on festered mounds I do not flower red poppies, do not hold steady stately roses In the window of a downtown boutique my walls warmed the sunlight lacing through patterns netwing on my weightless side This is … Continue reading
My Body, Myself
unconscious across the plaza grounds across the grasses clinging to my hem like the children I’ll never have, I drag myself, my eyes focused on nothing—on everything— lamp-hot concrete rasping calloused fingers, the shadow of a man watching as I … Continue reading
Cupboards
I am the not-remembering, a cracked glass sitting bereft on a shelf, having mastered the art of a smile so well no one can tell I can’t tell who they are. ask me again if I remember and I can … Continue reading
Into the Blue
the blue cup, whorling oil slick tan, looking up from its shatter, hears whisper shit understands. so beautiful at shop this noon and now in pieces, one lodging in foot, the closest it is to becoming owner. it would bloodstream slip into … Continue reading
Visiting Grandfather on My Way to New Mexico
you said I was two and I blank, grasp at the threads of reality, learn anew what makes a person, what memories build into. on your brown sofa I remember another couch my therapist, it’s not a full flashback and … Continue reading
Mother Musing Over the Daughter’s Doll
my arms the rags of them that flail in winds, you cannot have my legs or the joints, cannot pull me apart at the seams to find my shelled core I fold my heart, tuck it into your sleep can’t … Continue reading
Mother Musing Over Her Daughter’s Doll
I want to swallow my sewing machine, needle by needle, unbinding the gears, a thimble sticking in my craw, the thread a delicate noose the way I learned sewing was for girls with ribbons in their braids whose button-eyed dolls … Continue reading
my little eden
i think this is what i was made for, planting a shovel in my corner of earth, looking out at the montana valleys before me, like giants, who died just before my birth. i feel strong, owning something with roots, … Continue reading
leaving
i can’t stand the bitter air here, but i know i’ll miss it when i’m gone, ‘cause when the crow calls, her wings fall, and she knows she left the TV on, three-chord melodies start to stale, i need to … Continue reading
apocalypse
as much as i wanted to, i didn’t tell anyone. about the moth, floating dead in our bathtub. about the people who lived there once. all it takes to end a planet is a whisper, or perhaps, the paper cup … Continue reading
and now it’s november
the crows have been hanging onto our telephone wires for weeks, they fear falling down, a common disease in these pressing times, and i silently urge the rebels to hold on, behind my blacked-out windows. oh, to be a teenage … Continue reading
Revenant
A little way into the Green Belt, I stood in a disk of turf surrounding a circle maybe two feet across of hand-sized rocks gray as the still late winter light circumscribing a pile of black ash. Vast though it … Continue reading
key of e flat
three bodies laid next to each other a clarinet heard in the guard’s head he cannot remember to hold or release breath guns and instruments are made of holes and pressure when you study the score your mistakes are marked … Continue reading
devoted wife and mother
women’s earth and women’s stones they roll in warmth, tend the green are generous to blooms “we attend we attend we attend the children have become bones meals and heart and hearth gone cold” things grow along the grave i … Continue reading
Daughters of the American Revolution
We line up not quite soldiers not quite, quiet women then in quiet rooms, an outrage dropped card, cad, slap, sin white faces on white clocks counting backwards for country homesteading a horror polite napkin dabs bloodied faces, a clean … Continue reading
hunger fable
lid of our feather on pot of our parents picked eggs under bodies until she bore too many for us to bear cut them to their yolks family’s last chance to feather the bed no one dreamt well under the … Continue reading
sextant
before cobalt carved the sea on canvas i carried crystal to clarify the sun in a man’s body i was the sailor in a woman’s i was the sea i bent light into two bodies in which century did they … Continue reading
House
After every fight, Baba claims our house is haunted, wants us to pack our lives into another home. There must be something wrong with the feng shui here. Remember that the church across the street does not count: it presides … Continue reading
Return
The last day hangs off the month like a loose tooth. Before long, I will drift into another room. All firsts are pale. Winter returns thicker this year, sighing into leaves —endings atrophy. Yesterday, the rain followed me home. Or … Continue reading
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