Tag Archives: Denise R. Weuve

Fridays Are

always like this— we think up a lie, you’re cold, need a jacket, the green velvet one, a Christmas gift soft as wings. Our friends stay inside the club drinking by the pitcher, and we go to your Mercedes talking … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | 1 Comment

Little Girl Allergic to the Dark

Just before sunset she starts to shake, her eyes glaze over, and sweat fills her brow. There are no prescription pills she can take. Her mother has tried many things, practicing Tao, herbal medicine, even called in a witch doctor, … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | 2 Comments

The Haircut

Maybe my mother wanted to catch the clock, so she crooked the camera and aimed for the corner barely keeping my two-year-old brother in frame. Or maybe she knew he was already creeping out through the negative, projecting to seventeen … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | 2 Comments