Category Archives: Poetry

I lived in an exoskeleton ofcynicism, sarcasm, prideentirely closed off to harsh windssharper wordsnot letting my gooey center outnot letting matter in AndI wish I found out soonerthat life begins with underbelly exposure,with squishiness of uncomfortability,with pins and palm needles of unsurednessand not with The. Perfect. Plan. I wish I had discovered earlier thatmy fireflyContinue reading “Firefly”

I didn’t find bugs before.I didn’t take in leaves, branches, bloomsin front of Windows,beside the roads.Before. I didn’t know squirrels before orchipmunks,didn’t watch daily theatrics of crows, chickadees, hawksunfold in front lawn branches.Before. I didn’t nodalong to rhythmsof my neighborhood, relying on changing soundsof outside to keep time.Before. I didn’t smellbuds of spring, each aContinue reading “After Covid-19”

Your plastic wrapping crinkleseach time I move and move and moveyou again,attempting to find your ideal place-out of the way but still at the forefront of our minds. You will never be eaten, only relocateduntil we deem it to have been“too long”or we explore whether we“even really like these”or we“can’t even remember when we ordered.”Continue reading “An ode to the lone Chinese fortune cookie on top of the microwave”

As breeze dances through leaves,making light skip and twirl and bounce,I am lost in sun’s sea of rays, filtered through trees.I am lost in tides of swaying branches.I am lost in beats of birdsong, sweet smell of grass.And I find myself in summer.

I can only imagine that my future is forged of wrought iron – tangles of metal looping and lacing upsides and downsides and sideswaybound to twist and bloom into something else entirely. Somewhere I forgot what it was like to be heated and bent cooled and sealed and how these horrible sounding manipulations seamlessly fitContinue reading “The Realization”

A white teacup saucer with small rosebuds is sitting on the off-white carpeting and I’m holding the small, matching cup in my beauty-marked hand. My undotted hand feels sore in two spots where my teeth lie when I suck my fingers, pressing my sign for “I love you” against my small lips. Mr. Big BearContinue reading “After Great-Aunt Florie’s Unveiling Service”

The old man meticulously gardening and trimming: nose hair.

baseball stitching unraveled caught in the broken window pane

cherry blossoms pink cups of nectar and histamines

tree leaves glitter the breeze pushes though mom’s wind chime