how does one

pull out knives embedded

along their spine

ask your ancestors

if they need your permission

to spark a fire

*Published by Human/Kind Journal on 12/9/20

what remains

after each star combusts

into black

legend has it

there are colors

we have never seen

*Published by Human/Kind Journal on 12/20/20

 how many sapphires

does the ocean contain

within its depths

along the surface

of my skin

you will know infinity

*Published by Human/Kind Journal on 11/8/20

 before death

did we gnash our teeth

in despair

a bluebird needn’t ask

if the air

will lift her feathers

*Published by Human/Kind Journal on 10/28/20

Note: This is the debut of the poetic form, Socratic verse, which I created. If you are interested in writing your own, here is the blueprint: At the heart of Socratic verse is a desire to explore the unknown, both internally and externally, through lyrical and surreal dialogue. Each part consists of 1 - 5 lines. 

contents under pressure to be human

*Published in Issue 1.8 of Human/Kind Journal
**Nominated for The Haiku Foundation’s Touchstone Individual Poem Award by the editor

Christmas in July

You'd think I'd be a tough-as-nails person by now, but I'm not. Each time I speak up about an injustice, the girl inside of me crawls into a tight ball, as if to protect herself from an impending head-on crash. I know that might sound rather dramatic, but speaking up is a risky venture. In fact, during the past three decades, I have been on the receiving end of death threats, beatings, and job, family, and friend loss as a result of sharing my truth.  
 
So, in the time between now and whatever the future may hold, regarding my latest effort to break the silence, I am doing the only logical thing I can: hug my knees and hum out-of-season holiday tunes to an empty room.

nuclear fallout

but first

a dance

*Published in Issue 1.6 of Human/Kind Journal

(at family dinners I played the role of Very Nice Houseplant)

On paper, the difference between speaking with someone versus speaking to someone is quite superficial. Insignificant, perhaps. “Why even bother analyzing this?” you might ask. In terms of semantics, however, the difference between those two is as significant as crossing a pond versus navigating an ocean. 

invisible 

my sweat  

in the Pacific 

*Published in Issue 1.5 of Human/Kind Journal

Fingers Crossed

I see this meme over and over: Someone is behind the wheel (cue steely gaze of determination), and the text reads something to the extent of “deciding if I should go home or leave town.” Leave town? Really? That’s your big getaway plan? 

If I’m gonna blow this popsicle stand, I’m not just gonna leave this town, state or country. I’m gonna truck it out of this planet, this solar system, this galaxy, this universe, and hitch a ride on a parallel dimension’s Big Bang and start from absolute square zero within absolute square zero. 

rewrite 

the sky finally 

rains glitter

*Published in Issue 1.4 of Human/Kind Journal

Rebecca

I wasn't popular in high school. In a Catholic institution filled with all things blond, tan, ambitious, and religious, I was the weirdo agnostic who dug combat boots and barely saw the light of a grade higher than C. My sole friend—a conservative, prim Brainiac—never viewed me as a misfit, however. I was her dear pal. A sleepover buddy. I was the person who snuck into a vacant girls' locker room at lunch to philosophize life and Tolkien with her, without the background chatter of a blustering cafeteria.  
 
Before we graduated, I made the risky choice to tell her that I was bisexual. I never had a crush on her, I said, but I wanted her to know the real me, whatever that was, before we journeyed our separate ways to college.   
 
A week or two later, she sent me a lengthy hand-written letter, the old-fashioned way: through mail. It was one of the most beautiful, raw, and compassionate things I had ever read, filled with unconditional love and support. I was floored. In my head, I whispered continual gratitude—a thousand silent thank-yous to whoever listened to my internal ramblings that I had, despite my prediction, not lost a friend.  
 
I tucked her letter in my bedroom drawer and vowed to the stars I would respond soon. But I never did. And I never saw or heard from her again. 
 

in the wind

a thousand apologies
​lost forever 

*Published in Issue 1.2 of Human/Kind Journal
**2019 Pushcart Prize nominee