Raising Feminists, part 2

When I was pregnant with my girls, and not knowing they were girls, I hoped they would be. Girls. For one reason. I thought  it would be easier to raise female feminists than to raise male feminists. That's my truth. Not proud. Just is. I wasn’t up to what I believed would be too difficult... Continue Reading →

Raising Feminists

I didn't know I was doing it until I had done it. It's like going on a new hike, a bit of a mystery. You leave the trail head with a little trepidation. Can I do this? You've looked at the map. It makes sense. (Always a worry.) You wonder how steep the climbs will... Continue Reading →

Celebrating Smart Women

for my girls, even Riana, who doesn't like poetry The Cranberry Line Follow the cranberry line of dawn, go home reach far, the moon is only a lost star looking for sunrise, for the saffron tide; waves like Aurora’s children on the verge of morning, stretch and rub their eyes. Be a poet. Be that... Continue Reading →

‘Protecting Women,’ a found poem, Aisle 7, Walgreens

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 →

No More Snoozin’

Have I been asleep? Just hitting the snooze alarm? Over and over and over. For years? I see my girls passionately being activists. Where did I go? Things I rallied for as a young woman were obtained. Not everything. Not perfection. By far. But so much so that maybe I sat down. Maybe I went to... Continue Reading →

Unless You’re Dying

I had a boss once who, when I knocked on her door to wish her well on her vacation, looked up, and said, "Anne Marie, unless you are dying, I do not have time for you." Well, what else could I do after that but write a poem? So I did. Unless You're Dying* for... Continue Reading →

Choking

I believe it is a woman thing. Choking. We choke up. We choke when we laugh too hard. Or cry. We choke on our food. Or I do. Laughing and eating has led to food or drink flying straight across the table from my mouth to the face of my date. I remember this happening... Continue Reading →

Ms., More, and On My Vanity

Some 20 years ago when it first showed up on the newsstands, More magazine made sense to me. Finally. Even in my 30s, when my skin and body were far tighter and smoother than they are now, I appreciated a fashion magazine that did not cater to the supple skin and skinny builds of starved young... Continue Reading →

Overfire

Has the world always been in overfire? Like my wood stove after I stoke it with well-seasoned cedar and pine, hefty logs on top of crisp sheaths of aspen kindling. I pile those atop a foundation of twigs that I obsessively collect from my yard throughout the year. The girls hated when I shouted 'pine... Continue Reading →

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