Gray Choices I come from the dry cleaners chemical steam staining my shallow breath like my brother’s ashes that cannot stay on the mantle watching us wondering where to put them I come from the tulip garden tall stems like picket fences that need painting petals drop and rest in dirty sunshine sullen remnants of the bloom... Continue Reading →
Roots, Worms, and Blossoms How will the promise of age rest upon my skin? As it does the forgotten apple? The sad Macintosh left under a tree withered and no good for a pie? Will time brand me with pinches smudge my shiny skin and deplete my rightful size? Or will I be the old... Continue Reading →
This is one of my favorite performance pieces, and while I haven't performed it in a while, my daughter Riana and I were in Walgreen's recently, and it came to mind, so I pulled it out, and thought I'd share. Imagine me on a stage, wearing a pink pussy hat, of course. There would be... Continue Reading →
I am equally embarrassed, and fortunate, to be the owner of all my stuff. A woman in transition, I have spent the first four months of this year looking at it. Sorting, choosing, remembering, cleaning, tossing, and ultimately, keeping. Some things anyway. Now that I think about it, this process began most seriously ten years... Continue Reading →
I journal, somewhat obsessively. Nearly every morning. The sunrise and me. I write. It rises. I have had this partnership with the rising sun since I was a wee little thing. My day is just not right if I don't begin it writing. (And funny, the day wouldn't be right if the sun didn't rise!)... Continue Reading →
pocket poet 