Published Poetry
Puddle
(originally published in Particle Magazine, Autumn 2015,
University of Nottingham)
Raging.
Fear. Gray.
Some
call it dreary or drab
despite
the grab, the pull of the roots,
but
it is your story,
your
May Day,
your
birth.
Pit-pat.
Thrush. Gush.
Youth
finds you growing,
stretching
your arms and fingertips
to
reach a new sidewalk,
a new
grass line,
a new
curb.
Billow.
Wisp. Sigh.
Retreat
your Mother Sky,
and
hopes rise.
Face
reflecting people walk,
buses
splash,
canines
trot.
Still.
Sun. Heat.
Father
Time cups your soul
in
his hands
You’re
shrinking,
he’s
drinking.
The sidewalk is dry.
You are but a memory
that reflected
the way
we held hands.
Once.
Small Talk
(originally published in Particle Magazine, Spring 2016,
University of Nottingham)
Nobody wants to bare their heart—a
whitewashed wall,
on which hang the faded memories of
yesterday and the grand sketches of tomorrow
—not when it shows the dirty
fingerprints of children,
the crumbling drywall from the
fight, or the blood droplets from last Tuesday.
Even the loved are not safe from the
cobwebs of time or the settling of dust on a lonely soul.
Society saunters in, sporting a suit
and carrying a pail of touchup paint.
When she asks, “How are you?”, I follow
protocol, dipping my brush
in the pail of cheery, yellow lies,
dabble it over the latest spot of mold
and smile, saying, “I’m doing well.
How are you?”
Heartbeat
(originally published on Spillwords)
she’s the reminder that I need fresh
air—
kiss of sharp needles, stabbing my
feet as
they plunge in this icy green
lakeside shore from
liquefied glaciers where old trunks
sank and
stick up like a cross-stitch quilt;
when you ask
me to listen, rest my head atop your
chest, please don’t ask me to relax,
for still I
feel the avalanche, lifeblood of
this sphere with its
veins of ash and fire pulsing to
drumbeats
in the deep; she first stole my
breath like a
pickpocket, making me double-check
my
back. I can’t grasp hold of fear
when it is
keeping me alive. this earth is my
home—
my heart core in that cavern you
call my
chest—I’ll hold my breath, dreading
the next earth-
quake, because it’s more than shivers
running up
my backside, making my hair stand on
end;
it’s a reminder that this, my wild
heart,
is only one organ in our world of
orchestras, setting the march with
drums now
Most Read Poem of 2019
People romanticize the canals
and arching bridges of Venice,
but have you ever gotten yourself lost
in the sticky, humid heat
down an alley that stinks of urine?
Don’t get me wrong,
I enjoy the way I stumbled
across a bookstore with volume
after volume laid out in rows
within a bathtub, within a boat
for when the city floods.
I relished watching the glassblower
tug at the liquid fire and mold it
and pull until he set a little red horse, solid,
on the table.
But try finding a place to park
outside the city inside a garage
where your car is no longer a car
but a sardine packed among sardines.
I would rather take the train
and not have to worry about driving
with these maniacs who don’t signal—
I would rather be told to stand
at the wrong platform—
then rush back
down the tunnel, up to the right platform
and board a train with cracked windows
and humid air. Pounding hearts. Less stress.
Is it worth it all?
Taking the time to travel
to walk the trash-lined streets,
sail under the Bridge of Sighs
taste the bread topped with olive oil and rosemary
smell the salt of the Mediterranean,
feel the cool water lap at my feet
as we escaped the throngs of people and pigeons.
The towers are crooked here,
but even in leaning, there are blue skies.
***
More 2019 Poetry
The First Snow (January)Thoughts of Place (February)
Ode to Winter (March)
At My Own Pace (June)
Concrete Forest, Paper Meadows (July)
Fireflies (August)
Origins (September)
At Night (November)
Copper Coated Autumn Leaves (December)
2018 Poetry
Silent Words (January)
Early Spring (April)
Still Life in Spring (May)
The To-Be-Read List (July)
Biking to Work (August)
Waking Up (September)
Autumn (October)
2017 Poetry
Weird Winter Weather (January)
In Season (February)
The Crow and the Heron (March)
Magpie (September)
Snowfell (December)
2016 Poetry
Flour (January)
Starlight (February)
The Muse (August)
The Christmas Market (December)
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