We’re women long past middle age,
come to reveal our old stories,
deciding how to use the page
There'll be no
folding, spindling, mutilating
of this woman anymore.
The stars are not hereditary. There was once a prism
and drawn in her, the mystic legend of the hore.
Read MoreThere. There it is. My thought, My secret,
Read MoreTap, tap, tap dancing to the beat of what I should be,
I could be more confident if I wasn’t so afraid to shine.
I am broken in several areas,
Read MoreHomeless
as a reality
As an innocent teenager
Evicted onto the streets
when you die you can put your ashes inside me
I am used to being a home for the dead.
i’ve seen three geysers erupt
one in reykjavik, the backdrop a glacial terrain
another in Yellowstone, that faithful one
the third came from my mother’s gut
I dig for shelter
in a homespun
endometrial layer
“can you look at it” i asked,
without meaning
to say those words
On Friday’s I search
For your face in mirrors,
visiting bars soft lit by streams of
sapphire bulbs; by eight-o’clock
"I'll never drive on that road again," she said,
as if it was the road who killed him
with her tempting curves
and shimmery guardrail waistband.
I asked to keep
the lights off—
and in the pitch black
you pulled me in
He taught me how to fear. I’d rather live with my eyes shut than be blinded by the light.
Read More