Wednesday, May 18, 2016

Sunday, August 9, 2015


It felt like mourning
most of all weighted
sinking like a rock 
or a body
to the bottom of
her chest
legs bound no
longer kicking
save yourselves
i’m just going to rest
a spell in this
green water blanket
cold wrapping the
end of life is cold
like the beginning you
emerge into
the open air
remember the warmest
place you have ever
known you cry
for comfort 
kicking mad

Saturday, April 11, 2015

Repeat Repeat

a finger trace
a belly full
a wisp of gray
the coming bright

and tender lips
alight on mine
your charming fire
and my delight

a cigarette
the smoke unfurls
and curls and twists
and writes and writes

the same old line
a blackened page
an empty thought
a wasted night

Saturday, February 22, 2014


The train has made me dreamy again.  The constant poetry of land and sky rushing past my windows has opened something in me, unlocked a hatch that had previously been sealed shut.  From my sleeping car vantage I get privileged glimpses of life in America, tiny weathered towns in the middle of starched golden plains, glass-fronted houses built into stark white banks of snow and trees.  I am the wistful girl in the house too close to the tracks for a good night's sleep, silver bullet train speeding by, going anywhere but here.  I am the self-loathing privileged writer peering out the windows at endless herds of cows, wondering how someone can make a life from just standing still, when mine is so perfectly fueled by running.  I am a cow in a golden field, buffeted by the wind, thinking only of whether those clouds look like rain.

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

I can't

I can't
I can't do anything
I can't do anything right
I can't do right
I can't do

but watch me elegantly smoke this cigarette
puff goes in
puff goes out
gray smoke flag
waving above
my head curling
shafts of light
pierced ash
the haze
of dubious

I can't do much
but I can do this
and sometimes that's enough
and sometimes it isn't


I will hide my
success in yours
bending to form
tucked in around
the edges of what
you've done
so everyone will know
I am good
mimicking good
resembles good
flattering replication
copy copy
copy the parent of success
copy the child's fumbling try
I prove nothing of myself
you I prove
I prove you again and again

Saturday, November 2, 2013


They don't like it
when you sleep
on the train
stretched out
across three
seats exactly
wide enough
for a man
from a long day
of traveling

the carriage sways
and forth
and back
and forth
a gentle humming
beneath the compartment
cozy and warm
safe passage across
the broad starlit
lands of the mother
country as she
pleads with you
my dear one
just sleep