where we come from In a world full of strangerswe all need to come from somewhereI let my weight drip onto the floora hole so deep I...
Chaconne
what blood I strained over Bach’s Chaconne,threshing the damasked wolf tonesfrom the ironical and huge second movement as boats of yew, with gelid boughs of redyewberries turned pale and dark at once,broke the tenséd tent of the Irish sea and “we wanted as much to see...
Gaia
The blond hair of a child—fall leaves burned on the groundThe soft skin of her hand—smooth texture on the birch.The bear sleeping on the iced surface—her mother’s bellyYour eyes, blue, green, brown hurricane, watching me at all times.I’m a sinner,I use your body,I...
Resistance
The world is simply, a stage. A stage for the man or woman with the greatest deeds. This environment – yes, this environment,is a garden full of many different roses,that began with a faithless seed. The moment that seed found a purpose,it began to grow,And the most...
Short Fuse
Her head high and her standards higher.She locks her heart when they inquirefearing it can’t handle a spark;avoiding heartbreak leaves no mark. Play it safe, she tells herself,fairy tales are for the shelf.Thoughts keep her awake at night;they always end in fight or...
The Farmers’ Market
While the farmers’ market was in full swing, thereby the fountain, a baby girl was learning to walk. Herwarm cinnamon face radiated light not yet dimmedfrom understanding the cruelties of this world, the oddsstacked against her for reasons beyond her control. She was...
Audacious Ambition
so hot until it’s notso long as I smileNot that smile. less teeth, pleaseless vagina dentata, pleaseless evidence that I could devourwhat devours me How very unbecoming of meto be becoming. if you could just…hold the line between HR andhell between performance...
He Came to Me in the Spring
He came to me in the spring,in that February, snowflakes clicked out of dreamslike photographic snapshots, and with mehe sang, as if he knew how to sing and was alive.Leaving no cross on my body, he called me to paradise,washing away my red name from my palms with...
Going, Going
The dress I wore at your fourth wedding is most likely gone from memory now. It was maroon lace over satin and matched the flush of my shame when you took me into the back of my new grandparents’ home and beat me for embarrassing you by raising my voice.That is gone,...
Penelope at her Loom
My loom is loud with water.His bouncing war legs are finallyStill. I weave into his dolorous mouthA golden thread of trust. I feel his gut,With my fingers and, now, he is not even curiousWhy he has seagrass from my estuary woven into his long hair. And so it goes. He...