Saturday, November 16, 2019

handle with care

please
do not incinerate
my remains into useless ash
or mix my skeleton
with the endless fog of layered
earth upon earth
clean my bones with reverence
dust them
shine them like the fine china
families pass down
generation to generation
and then gently use my bones
to drum out 
a rhythm only the sea and sky
could comprehend 

*Published by Poetry Super Highway (Poet of the Week: November 18 - 24, 2019)

Friday, November 15, 2019

wilderness
uncle asks
what I cost

*Published in Bones 18

Thursday, November 14, 2019

every road a cliff after the bomb after the bomb

*

skeleton in the cloud I also knew as mother

*

more humanity than humanity late-autumn oak

*Published by Proletaria on 11/14/19

Saturday, November 9, 2019

a used copy of e e cummings’ 95 poems 

i love it when a book smells like coffee. smells like cigarettes. like an unidentifiable existential crisis that i just happen to hold in my hand. <<< breathe in. out. again. >>> when the edges are stained and crumpled. smashed from a fistfight with recklessness or passion. <<< those are the same thing, right? >>> if this book could bleed it would. if it could talk it would scream every word at me. and oh God. yes. i would let it.

*Published by Dime Show Review 

Monday, November 4, 2019

bathed in red church bells ring

*

autumn leaves falling into has been

*

in the river drifting through an ellipsis 

*Published in the 2019 issue of Under the Basho (One-line Haiku section)

Friday, November 1, 2019


stigma

i would love to say
recovery has a finish line 
one where crowds roar 
as you break the paper divide 
with arms outstretched 
in hallelujah praise God 
recovery really is 
a thankless job you 
more or less do in the dark 
it’s also a taskmaster 
that waits by your bed each dawn 
sayin’ get up g-damnit 
don’t drown in victimhood 
and when you finally decide to hoist
up that golden survivor flag 
you begin to curse that title 
more and more each day 
all you want 
after all your scars
is to be a human 
free of mark

*Published in From The Ashes: An International Anthology of Womxn's Poetry

Thursday, October 31, 2019

still a fairytale

once upon a time 
there was a young girl 
curly and tawny haired 
her home was filled with monsters 
that would scream and punch 
all through the night 
sometimes those monsters 
would even invade her in dreams 
their teeth would gnash as they’d chase her 
blindly through streets 
the young girl was always afraid 
so she began to knit 
her own dreams during the light 
in secret 
and away from prying eyes 
she was a princess 
an angel 
or a glitter-speckled fairy 
she realized she could be anything 
and those monsters
had no defense 
against the castle of her own design

*Published in From The Ashes: An International Anthology of Womxn's Poetry

Wednesday, October 30, 2019

weight of a word

age 22
the first time my therapist 
uses the forbidden term 
inc*st
i remember how that noun 
sank into my body 
an anvil dropping down down
into the sea
nowhere to be found 
for day weeks months 
i couldn’t even say the word
inc*st 
without wanting to vomit 
i even told my husband 
i wanted to die just to be reborn 
as if that would clean 
up those dirty places 
i dared not even touch 
so i stopped saying the word 
inc*st
called it the big bad 
big ugly 
my own personal Voldemort 
anything except the actual word 
to extricate myself from the reality 
that came barreling with it 
and that’s the problem 
you see 
how could i ever heal
from a word i refused to say?
i let that word place cuffs
upon my wrists 
shackles around my ankles 
and duct tape over my mouth 
the only way to break free 
i realized 
was to begin saying 
without shame or fear or filter 
that i survived 
the word no one ever wants to hear

*Published in From The Ashes: An International Anthology of Womxn's Poetry

Monday, October 28, 2019

bird of paradise
my untamed
hair

*Published in the October 2019 issue of Stardust Haiku

Tuesday, October 22, 2019

maggots
your
weaponized
hands

*

as if you never left the pull of night

*

forgiveness rounding the mountain’s peak

*Published by Weird Laburnum on 10/21/19

Monday, October 21, 2019

deep space
finally I hear
the pulse of heaven

*

infinite horizon
how much
I have yet to learn

*

dewdrop
for a second
our worlds collide

*

gentle rain
my present
now sweet

*

hope
in my vision
hundreds of stars

*

bright sky
the universe
needs you

*

heart of the cosmos
breathing in
all that will ever be

*

sunlit expanse
this must be where
healing begins

*

answered prayers
when planets
align

*Published in Incense Dreams 3.1

Friday, October 11, 2019

believe me

every poem
is a love song
for you

*Displayed in The Art of Recovery exhibition at Edison State Community College

Thursday, October 10, 2019

thesis

i don’t write
because i need comfort or love
or strength
i already have those in spades
from the one who crafted me
long before
mother even carried my torch
i write because
far too many people hang
their heads low
sink into their shame
simply because they still
believe someone else’s filth
dirties their bodies
and forever taints their souls

*Displayed in The Art of Recovery exhibition at Edison State Community College

Tuesday, October 8, 2019

acceptance

today
i will do nothing more than float
float in the infinite ocean
of what could be
face up
arms open as wide as the universe
ready to feel
to embrace
the dark
the light
the sanctity
of all that is
and all that will be

*Displayed in The Art of Recovery exhibition at Edison State Community College

Monday, October 7, 2019

spark

when i cannot feel
the pulse of love under my skin
i run my hands
over grass warmed
by the sun’s tender light
there i say
is the key
that touch
that connection
zip lines to my heart
and says open please open
you are safe

*Displayed in The Art of Recovery exhibition at Edison State Community College

Sunday, October 6, 2019

a simple truth

only after i forgave
could i smell the bloomed rose

*Displayed in The Art of Recovery exhibition at Edison State Community College

Saturday, October 5, 2019

upgrades

i traded
his salt for honey
his venom for medicine
and that
my loves
is how i survived

*Displayed in The Art of Recovery exhibition at Edison State Community College

Friday, October 4, 2019

take my hand

at what point
will every last one of us
admit
we hold more pain
in our bodies
our minds
our hearts
than we have the strength
to carry alone?

*Displayed in The Art of Recovery exhibition at Edison State Community College
dissonance

you say
there are no dirty rooms in your soul
yet i
have been cleaning them each night

*Displayed in The Art of Recovery exhibition at Edison State Community College

Sunday, September 29, 2019

prelude
in D major
the sun’s slow ascent

*

free jazz
all at once
birdsong

*

syncopation
the wind
before the storm

*

coda
breathing in
day’s fall

*Published in the autumn 2019 edition of The Bamboo Hut