Category: Poetry

  • Summer’s Lover

    There is a mosquito in my house, devouring my flesh one infinitesimal poke after another Along the hairline that area that is neither cheek nor chin neither scalp nor ear And on the back of my neck and inching down my arm leaving minute hickeys loving me, my body, my blood he cares not for my comfort like that guy… Continue reading "Summer’s Lover"

  • Sweet and Sour Sorrow

    I licked chocolate pudding off the foil top while Lucinda Williams sang “Little Honey” and the sun faded behind a darkening cloud and the missing you feeling that sits always in some part of me let loose a happy melancholy that matched the taste of chocolate pudding and Lucinda’s sweet and sour sorrow Missing you is what I do just… Continue reading "Sweet and Sour Sorrow"

  • When I die

    When I die I hope my hands are reaching out touching the face of a beloved, accepting the grace of a loving god, offering peace and love to the world Whether my nails are trimmed, or the skin on my hand resembles shed snakeskin, or if my rings are resting the bedside table It matters only that my hands are… Continue reading "When I die"

  • 94. My Soul

    Partial lyrics of a hymn come to me in the quiet “oh my soul, my soul” I wonder who else is launching that lament into this night’s sky? Syrian orphans? Indigenous Water Protectors? Black mothers? People of faith (or not) made victim of an election cycle designed, it seems, to tear us all from each other. Oh my soul, my… Continue reading "94. My Soul"

  • 92. Pad See Ew and You

    Thai food is a treat almost as much as seeing you, my love, my baby, my friend. How lovely to look up from my noodles that slap my face and soil my shirt to see you there, looking back at me. Precious, rare, sweet and spicy– pad see ew and you.

  • 62. Between

    Leaves dot the porch still here and there not yet a blanket from porch to street And the window is open to a softness that is, itself, an opening to an ending and a beginning and all the life we lead between

  • 47. Ancestors

    You call them ancestors but I can’t help but think of them as ghosts whose only job is to make sure I know I’m connected to something other than the thoughts inside my brain even if it is only the love inside my heart.