The ember in my core seeded my body, as if blue flames reached like trees from the stubble along my neck, spinal ridges, the crests of my shoulders. I am a land of fire, again relishing the sensation of burning as I stare into backyard flames -- flashing orange in the company of friends. I… Continue reading The Fires of June
Like a swarm of jellyfish afloat in a swell, an uncountable glut of balloons offer trailing threads of many colors and rise away. If I grab the blue string, will I need to gather every thread of that hue to succeed at blues? Or must I make bundles of rainbow colors, yet miss the bulbs of indigo I cannot see?
The Pith Re-emerges Winter's tentacles remained on my mind and held me under at my ebb-tide. Time, weeks more, froze in suspense by anti-virtues wrought from the wrong drugs given with good intentions. The summer-self emerges like cactus fronds breaking the brittle soil. The scorching and freezing is over, the pith has survived to emerge,… Continue reading Grabbing a Greased Crocodile
first draft "A Discount Muffin" is the poem I eat tonight. I am ravenous to find nourishment with meaning and its empty calories (so-called?) are filling a visceral space. The mental debt owed to me is the coffer I constructed, empty, to fill for myself from my self, extorting my self in proficient, endless anachronisms.… Continue reading A Discount Muffin
I wept Sunday. Cradling an iPhone in my lap, earbuds like IV-lines between my father and me, I sat on the floorboards of my friends' attic, near the brightly-lit hole leading to my room, and finally found my fountain. Bizarrely, I had not wept at all during this entire painful period and I was aware.… Continue reading Cactus Adonis
Laura on the Lake She is happy, now, in my dream by the lake. I see her cascading chocolate hair and citrine eyes set deeply in grinning cheeks, soft cheeks I don’t quite kiss. I don’t quite embrace her; she plays in the shallows with my Aunt’s granddaughters— who did not exist, then— near what… Continue reading Laura Returns Again
Sometimes I over-think my narrative and try to make it grand. Let me tell you all a story; I will try to let flow. A guest lecturer from "Living Classrooms" came to my graduate-level curriculum class. She was a white-lady from South Dakota named Monique who taught in Rwanda with Peace Corps and now coordinates… Continue reading My Future, Sculpted in Play-Dough