Tag Archives: Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco

When we moved, we threw away his art. You know you have to. Other parents said to make a little scrapbook and we did but there was more. Bird-wing pages, arranged neatly. Bird-wings of a flock in motion where the … Continue reading →

I thought I could make anywhere a home, I thought my body would change shape: a thinning sock that skin shows through. We packed up while it was dark. People say that when you move you can’t see right and … Continue reading →

You could walk across back then through a turnstile and you didn’t need a passport and one night this guy I knew carried a girl who was too drunk back in his arms because she said that her feet hurt. … Continue reading →

burning ceremony I forget to write your name Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco lives in California’s Central Valley and co-edits One Sentence Poems. Her chapbooks, Various Lies, Lion Hunt, and Water Weight, are available from Finishing Line Press, Plan B Press, and Right … Continue reading →

beach fog just the shape of you walking away from me Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco lives in California’s Central Valley, where she works as a librarian. She has two chapbooks in print, Various Lies, from Finishing Line Press, and Lion Hunt, from … Continue reading →

Maybe we aren’t meant to stay alive with our curlicues of oil our one-night-stands our flashing lights. By the dump close to my house, construction crews found mammoth bones— there is an art in the curved skulls, the curling femurs, … Continue reading →

In the time- lapse photos a green spread — the springtime resting on the world — and the trails your mother’s mothers knew, rocks shifting like sleepers. In another life my mother spent her summers on Cape Cod: oysters, sand … Continue reading →

On Star Trek, when they beamed people back up, there was a blue mist all around the beam-up-ees and the part over their hearts always went last. In junior high I wondered if, during the testing of the beam-thing, someone’s … Continue reading →

A small beaver is the arrow point racing through creek water, and I follow him, jogging, on the path. He ducks away, his flat tail slicing clean through murk, leaving the drawing of a hole on the creek surface. Magic … Continue reading →

geminids the stars fall down for someone else Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco lives in California’s Central Valley and co-edits One Sentence Poems. Her chapbook, Various Lies, is available from Finishing Line Press.

water weight how much you had to lose Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco lives in California’s Central Valley and co-edits One Sentence Poems.

drifts of cut hair what you won’t remember Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco lives in California’s Central Valley and co-edits One Sentence Poems. She loves inlets, bays, oceans, and lakes.

the tallest eucalyptus tree his son’s slumping shoulders Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco lives in California’s Central Valley and co-edits One Sentence Poems. She loves inlets, bays, oceans, and lakes.

lazarus small schools of fish Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco lives in California’s Central Valley and co-edits One Sentence Poems. She likes running, dogs, and water.