Category: Poetry

I clutched the stupid cotton gown that never closed he entered in a whoosh, his assistant hovering in his familiar khakis and suede shoes he checked me quickly listened and tapped squeezed and felt my breasts and under my arms...

A Sunday Outing, 1929 A photo tucked in an old album, a moment preserved in time, like an insect set in amber… a youth group outing, in the busy Hamburg harbor— quiet, sleepy, a summer Sunday afternoon. The girls with bobbed...

(Alice Driver, executed, November 1558) A fortnight before the unfortunate woman’s passing a defiant pair knelt on a bundle of kindling and prayed until bailiffs insisted they have done. Alice showed the same courage when they...

You are the unnecessary pillow I cram into a pillowcase. Who needs four pillows for one head? You are the head of cauliflower left too long in the refrigerator. Eventually it must be let go. You’re the egg I scramble, Cracked...

Morning Joe is a good place to start. Turn it on and listen to him describe politicians as men banging on their highchair trays. Bang on your highchair tray. A tantrum is in order when you’re spitting up blood, when they tell...

I come from Madagascar. My pedals burn with sunrise gold, blush with sunset’s crimson fold. My stem priming with heat of equator, in the sun’s glamour my pistils glow. I dwell in valleys deep and wide, greeting dawns and dusks...

as we endeavour to live in a world quickly filling with hate and injustice when each day’s headlines stick in our craw and the present and future look bleaker and bleaker because they are and demonstrations swell while laws are...

I miss libraries you know when it was quiet and you could think versus now when it’s like McDonald’s playland with screaming children and checked-out parents scrolling on their phone instead of reading to their kids what’s weird...

the path stretches out in front of me and all I need to do is walk solid earth beneath limitless sky above all between is life your teal blue surface from shore to shore to shore mirroring the sky hillside on your shore I...

Drip, drip, drip the sound of waste our natural resources depleting have we squandered our thoughts of endlessness we have taken this little blue globe for granted not giving ensuring imploring her due process only our own she...