Category: Poetry
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Blank Verse for the Intertwined
I found them just before the killing frost. In the garden, with my rake, I uncovered 3 roots, interwoven. But the roots opened their eyes and had in their faces the light- shy look of old women—like root grannies. Holding them, I felt stirring or quickening. They made whispery sounds, a moth and milk-…
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Dog Days
It’s a sullen spring morning in Southern California. The gray atmosphere sticks to everything in the living room– the sofas, the mounted tv, the tall bookcase, the record player. It’s spring in Southern California not the one with beaches for blocks and congested freeways weaving skyscrapers, coughing up cars from one exit to another. No,…
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Timber
We split like firewood; I’ve seen it in movies. One long thwack and we were clear of each other, clean. I never thought I could feel so splintered. You fueled a lot of my fire. Not with, dare I say, wilderness survival in mind, but with gallons of unleaded gasoline, all tipped over, pouring…
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Two Lips! Click!
Nothing is sadder than two lips meeting again for the first time in a long time, they’re basically strangers Nothing’s more awkward than that hallway dance of, “who’s going which way?” Switch, and ebb, and flow, but no one’s truly wanting to go, so, they both stay pressed against the other for nostalgia …
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The Wisest Woman
March prepares to tear winter Into spring Babies blink in the bright sun Grass lies exposed, yellow, and dead Water trickles into pools. Drip. Drop Drip. Drop. Drop. Drop. Drop There is something in the spring air In the warm moisture In the spring air, blowing this way on me, As I suck back…
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Co-Dependent (One Foot)
I’m in aisle two, couple frozen pizzas under my arms, when I turn the corner on my way to grab pretzels. We could heat up the chicken, make some rice, cut vegetables. My mind is on our dinner, my stomach growls as a realization snaps my rose-colored glasses in half, fresh memories that…
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Never Meant To Be
It was never meant to be Peace was an errand for a fool, Far too fragile and rare for it to last The tree was always going to end up charred and brittle The land in ruins The citizens looking out at their home that promised hope, But delivered trauma and scars How many times…
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1/3 of a Proper Sonnet
1. Pilgrims of St. Rouche A painting by Thomas Worthington Whittredge Bleeding green oil on burning purple. Canvas congealing over the steeple inside. Our landscapes of twisted ivy and asters. Prayers every step of the way will follow. On feathered wings, I flew anywhere Your love allowed. Even if it was away from you, you…
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For The Unknown
I want the late-night calls I want the nights where we’re not sure who fell asleep first but we wake up together I want the times where you show up at my door without warning I want to know what songs get stuck in your head But I don’t who you are yet I just…
