Memory—tricky, slippery, fluid, changeable Every remembering physically changing that memory in the very synapses of the brain My brother recently said of my mother, she was always ready to laugh I said, I can’t remember her laughing, ever I have no memory of her laughing, I said Then it came to me in the middle …
i am worthy of lovewith hair on my legs and in atangled mess on my headno longer bleached fromroot to tipmy clothes are softer nowand so am ifinally accepting the fullness ofmy radiant little hearti know i will love you in everydeep belly breatha lesson learned, my tummy doesnot need to be tormented for me …
The little fox trots ‘n trotsHe trots through the fall lightThe fall light shines through the rusty brown treesThe rusty brown trees shed their leavesThe only sound to be heard isThe little fox crunching each leafSo light and so swiftThe little fox trots n trots
White knuckles test my patience. Eager, you check the clock: What does it say? That it’s not over. Feel like you’re filled to the brim with it. All the while you stay poised. What could that feeling be? Pressure upon the ribcage. Surge of agony nestled in your chest cavity. Gums numb. Jaw tight. Adrenaline …
Listen up, If you’re hard of hearing, Lean closer. Listen louder. Because I’m often soft-spoken. But maybe today, Maybe for once, You’ll have to retreat back and let your eardrums coil. You’ll have to gaze up at me in mystery, in confusion and wonder, “Is she mad at me?” I sit in silence yet again. …
A poet walks into a bar And that’s all That’s the joke because you see The funny thing is The poet is at home She is sitting in her sweatpants with her hair up in a terrible bun Impressions of her eyelashes Copied onto her skin from her day old mascara A bottle of the …
Rumbling low like a wave or an earthquake I feel you come into my mind. You enter like a red door. A long wisp of smoke. I let you wash over me As I try not to Drown Or fumble Or burn. I want to knock On that door. But I don’t.
Life moves laterally it’s shadow elongates to subtract then rises in breath like bread. wind on wind except with rain. wet leaves open with spring each slap the earth buds burst through soil. Unearthed jewels. Bright alchemy. Tender in their innocence. When the flower is still wet from the rain.
Do the birds sing their sorrows as sweetly as they sing their joys? Do birds find the miracle of their flight, as ordinary as we find our own footsteps? Do birds appreciate their feathered beauty, as people feel vulnerable in their skin?
When you kiss my lips It tastes so sweet, like honey But stings like a bee
