Tonight, I crave chocolate cake. when yesterday I had forgotten there was sugar and cocoa and bakers who know what to do. Continue reading
Love / poetry / Poetry / Uncategorized / Writing
Category Archives: Poetry
Day 49 of 35
Summer It was the 4th of July the mountains behind us burned and continued to for a month. The flames died down but we lost the summer to smoke. When finally our mothers let us as far as the pier, we could not bring ourselves to pull the fish from the water, so we didn’t … Continue reading
Love / Poetry / Uncategorized / Writing
Day 41 of 35
The moon, in distress, followed close, and the moths tried to pass for their cousins but failed. I wanted to tell you, “Look up,” but the light was too much. You could not see that the constellations had moved, that the lion had wandered off, that the virgin had taken a lover, that the entire … Continue reading
Day 38 of 35
He asked what I knew of current events. I told him; the gutters are full of rain, and next door a girl-child wails. Continue reading
Day 37 of 35
It was one of those first nights in the dark of the kitchen when we sat nearly naked on the tile drinking the last bottle of cheap champagne. The dogs uncertain what to make of us licked our faces and curled themselves at our feet. I knew then. Continue reading
Day 36 of 35
Brother At four you were fascinated with the length of my adolescent blonde hair, how I piled it high at the top of my head. You would climb into my arms, twist it, and say, “doorknob,” as if you could open me and crawl right in. When I put you down, you would settle for … Continue reading
Day 33 of 35
This morning he keeps me hushed in drifted cotton– the windows sealed,the birds at bay– and he asks about the dream, the furrow in my brow. I tell him of the apocalypse I can never stop and of the python that strangles the mallard duck on a pond in a park a mile from where … Continue reading
Day 31 of 35
1. The summer has gone native here. Our autumn generally subtle, our orchards extinct, few worry, except at night when the houses won’t let go of the heat. 2. It is a winter scene— a bridge made new by snowfall. I am bound by the black and white of it and envy the photographer his … Continue reading
Day 30 of 35
Tattoo Before he breaks the skin, he asks if this is my first. Much of my body exposed, I wonder how he doesn’t know the answer; how he could suspect that I have secreted another? We choose a sentimental space between spine and shoulder-blade, above my heart and hidden from the casual observer. When he … Continue reading
Untempered Glass 