Monday, November 16, 2015

inside a barbed wire hug

i can see the errors in my grammar
and bite my tongue to avoid mistakes
before i speak.

chopsticks balanced crumbs
stabbed my lips,
splintered your thumbs.

when my angel died,
it was still about your splinters.
empathy was out to lunch.

your paranoia dragged my bones down marble staircases
shattered my teeth against the curb
and demanded I smile pretty for the public.

put the puzzle together
inside a barbed wire hug
and love,

Thursday, October 1, 2015

untitled, one

as our fingers tango down our spines
there is fire in my veins

we are new

i see through closed eyes
and memorize the shape of you in my arms
and place the moment in the top right drawer of my brain
beside the finest bottle of merlot and the voice of nina simone

we were not made to be owned
so transparency yields authenticity
and freedom yields evolution

if nipples radiate through this cotton top,
the world won't stop
and we will stare in awe at the clouds above,

beauty will always expose itself,
forever please pay attention with me.

i have known you for centuries
today is one more day.

Wednesday, September 16, 2015


The clouds are changing with the leaves,
punching new shape and color in the sky
and death is beautifully unfolding with grace.

That October a hurricane killed electricity
and brought us together at the crossroads of our living.
You found me surviving,
I found you dying.
Chewing oxygen and steroids
we drank coffee and danced a heartbreaking waltz.

You wrapped your hands around my wrists and whispered:
“leave, you are strong enough to leave.”

Your words echoed for two long years
while my courage cooked slow and narrow in tiny corners.

Mother, where is the Rottweiler you watched me raise?
My mouth can’t form her name without the taste of vomit.

Leaving has left my heart dirty,  
but staying made my soul stiff.
I hate rules and rigidity that weaken my handshake.
When you leapt, did you feel the same?

Monarchs in milkweed stir an Autumn fever
and I ache to migrate beyond my current self. 

Monday, August 24, 2015


can write now 
in the middle of the night 
I can hum notes to the moon
decide my bedtime
and I can leave the room
without permission.

I can crave human touch
and feel the ache of loneliness alone, 
not tethered.

I can leave the window open
leave the volume at an odd number
and love my past without being scorned.

I can talk to strangers
I can talk to my sisters
I can live without fear of uncontrolled anger.

I can forgive without explanation.
I can grieve, weep, laugh, love, empathize
without justification.

I can remember screaming, crying, jealousy, isolation.
I can remember pleas for solace.
I can remember the day solace was claimed.

I can avoid the righteous,
I can walk with the wanderers.

I can accept what would not change,
I can regret not accepting that sooner.

I can give compassion to whomever is in need.
I can accept compassion whenever I am in need.

I can promise myself to 
take the time to heal
take the time to find the corners of being alone 
take the time to depend solely on my spirit for peace.

I can be the woman I aspire to be
outside the box,
outside doubt, 
outside hate,
outside false accusation,
outside society's expectation.

I can realize most of my life I was afraid of losing those I love.
I can choose to face that fear, 
and eat it daily for breakfast til it's gone.

I can believe that no one belongs to anyone,
and I can believe we all long for each other.

I can work as much as I need
to pay my bills
to fulfill my soul
to never depend on the generosity of anyone who would hold it against me.

I can embrace every form of love
and let each exist on its own
without competition, comparison, or conceit.

Monday, August 10, 2015

ghost dog

tug toward the squirrel
tug toward the stranger
tug toward this scent
that scent
every sniffed scent of danger

i miss the jangle of a chain
your puppy soaked chew
your slobber soaked kisses
how saying 'walk' woo-hoo'd you

the powered up panting
the picking up poo
the pitter pattered of paws
the head titled you

time with you furry friend
is better than days with most
i walk you in my dreams
i walk with your ghost.

i walk with your ghost.

Saturday, April 25, 2015


today I am seasick.
my anchor snapped, 
slipped to the sea
two years ago.

it was a Thursday.
today it is a Saturday.
what will it be in 2043?
will I be?

I remember 
feeding you ice
placing the plastic spoon between your lips
letting the chips drip onto your tongue
while hope hung to soothe you
the morphine droplets hung like bullets
making my hands shake
and my heart splinter.

Grief still rattles in my ribs.

I remember 
picking cereal with you
pretending we were foreign
among the Cheerios and Fruit Loops
fake words, fake dialect
no ears (not even our own) could understand
yet when our eyes met
I understood: Raisin Bran.

I'd give this up
to have you push me in a cart
and watch you choose toilet paper.
'please pick something soft, Mom.'

memories arrive at random.
I prefer it so.
I like when you sneak up on me 
in the shower, in the car, in the kitchen, in my dreams.

but today
(and every today 'til)
I am seasick without you.

Thursday, January 8, 2015

Time Bomb

Ticking ticking 
Tocking boom
My my my
How you run the room

Open the door
Smile on face
Tap a tiger's paw
Watch his ego race 

Lubing with lips
Salty surface sauce
Reverbing verbs
Less voice, more loss

Pin the truth down
Watch your lies
Pin a woman down
Watch her rise

Ticking ticking 
Tocking boom
My my my
How I run the room

Wednesday, January 7, 2015

their eyes

My father stomped and shouted
My mother smoked in silence

My father read newspapers
My mother read women's faces

My father loved a good debate
My mother loved a good novel

My parents had gentle eyes

My mother did the laundry 
My father took us to movies

My mother felt disappointed
My father felt defeated

My mother was tiny
My father was large

My parents had gentle eyes

My father remembered facts
My mother remembered feelings

My father needed her love
My mother needed his strength

My father bought potato chips
My mother bought fresh fruit

My parents had gentle eyes

My mother sought counseling
My father sought Catholicism

My mother asked for a divorce
My father asked for a second chance

My mother never called him anything
My father called her fruitcake

My parents had gentle eyes 

My father blamed
My mother let go

My father set his dreams aside
My mother met her goals

My father held anger 
My mother held forgiveness

My parents had gentle eyes

I am my mother's child
I am my father's child

hope I have their eyes

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

the morning

All our regrets
Take us early to the grave
So come hold my hand
Let's learn to be brave
Conquer the doubts
That live in our heads
With love on our lips
There's an open road ahead

You bring the morning
When all I see is night
I trust your mouth
When you say it's alright
We both have hearts
Wanting to feel
So come hold the map
And I'll hold the wheel

I get so down, 
so down sometimes
I can't make sense 
Of the thoughts in my mind
But I look at you
And I feel something right
I look to you
And all sorrow takes flight

Cause you bring the morning
When all I see is night
I trust your mouth
When you say it's alright
We both have hearts
Wanting to feel
So come hold the map
Ill hold the wheel

Saturday, January 3, 2015

bananas, holidays

My head is split
in ninety, numb, nickel-sized holes.

Christmas and New Years are hip
holidays for profit.
Sometimes monkeys need bananas 
to act kind, generous, and happy.

My heart is in prison,
without adjectives.

There is a hunger for destruction 
in the human mouth.
Chewing air, 
chewing words, 
chewing bullets
chewing skin.
I have felt teeth gnawing on my ankles.

Why do the battered go back?
Why do the batters batter?

What is enough?
When is enough?

Have all the bananas you want,
just give me back my heart.

My head is split
in ninety, numb, nickel-sized holes.