Writer. Demand Poet.
—
No point in being mad at the
Lilypad. It has no idea what it is doing.
It’s not her fault she grows up
Out of the water, surrounding herself.
No point getting bent out of shape when you
Notice … Read the rest “No Point in Being Mad”
—
One minute there was four of us
Together in the cold white room.
You cradled in daddy’s arms,
So foggy from the pain
Meds, but rumbling still
Your recognition.
Then two vials of liquid into
Your leg and
You … Read the rest “Where did you go?”
—
When we are gone, we leave
Behind more than emptiness.
First there is our dust, which is
Obvious. Find the dead cat’s
Fur on your pant leg. Find the
Broken friendship still
Lingering on the bookshelf.
When we are … Read the rest “When We are Gone”
—
I heard their hooves on the street where my parents live.
I heard it inside a corner of my dream and before
I even knew I was awake and climbing off the
Futon mattress and squinting night eyes through … Read the rest “Where I Do Not Know”
—
I try to try harder. To look under
Heavier rocks and inside murkier
Metaphors. But the grey of morning
Lifted her head and said: oh for
Heaven’s sake, sweetie. Stop trying to
Interchange my mountains and
Molehills. Instead … Read the rest “Between the Morning Trees, You’ll Find It”