Charged My daughters have each accused me of this: Slut-shaming. I didn’t really know the term, but I knew exactly what they meant the minute they said it. And they were right. Proud I was embarrassed, and this was not a case of someone calling the kettle black. I raised these smart feminists, and they... Continue Reading →
No. 1* Online Dating at 60? She watches the javelina’s nose breathe against the glass puffs of steam like cotton batting as if the black snouted beast had every intention of staying through sunrise right there beside her abelia. Her ballerina legs tendu with just a trace of leftover length, of grace like pink tights... Continue Reading →
I Can Only Bake Bread for him so I will warm the kitchen perfectly for proofing like old lovers who know the best place for rising. I will wear my red sundress in my humid kitchen it fits as if I was a girl hungry and wild baking bread. Remember? I will sift the flour... Continue Reading →
Measure Me (From scraps on the dash board.) Measure me with pie with hands like a horse with a protractor circle me with the absence of approval point me in the direction of next or blueberries Measure me with poetry published or piled like primrose opening only at night patient in the darkness drawing goddesses... Continue Reading →
I See You Sitting atop the wobbly table afraid of the shadows that don’t leave after the angry door said it again those words frozen in the slam fashioned like a cartoon balloon with expletives and small cold birds they hover above the jam shivering you say into the leftover darkness “But it’s never ‘for... Continue Reading →
Only One Place Not in our bed on a cool morning where I watched the gentle rise of your chest slow and in time to the dreams you never remembered where you always asked for mine could recall each one and match it to a crease on my face or curve of my hip Not... Continue Reading →
Soup is truth. Soup is simple. Soup is not pot roast. Or scrambled eggs. Soup is honest. Soup keeps our oldest stories. Sings them in the choir. Soup has an open mind. Soup does not mind all the leftovers in the fridge. Soup loves all things fresh from the garden. Kill the bugs first,... Continue Reading →
Eat Taxes for Dinner Ten years of 1040s nibbled by the tiniest of tiny teeth like zippers that traveled back and forth across the top of my marital status my earnings, my dependents, my citizenry and found home. My cold cabinet in the gray garage made warm in even the harshest of mountain winters by pipsqueaks who... Continue Reading →
An exploration of the things that keep us going, in a larger sense, not supplements or coffee, but life stuff, big life stuff.
Oh how the blood stories continue. Here are two pieces that look at the fiction around menstruation, and the truths. My own poem "All the Protection You Need", which quotes a litany of sanitary product packaging text, and I've re-posted right here beside today's book review "New Book Busts Myths About Menstruation Spread by... Continue Reading →
pocket poet 