I am 12
I bike to the playground in Chomedey to watch the boys play baseball
I like one of the boys, he is short, freckled with red hair
I am 12
Six years old, she climbs onto the counter-top, peering into her reflection. “Mommy!” She gasps! “Is that me?”.
Another late night out
It was after the show
on the stripRead More
Cliché to say they’re gone, wings pinned
behind the supple backs, longings fled
with the Steller jays’ flitting from porch to branch.
I find you years before you become admirable.
You were given to me without choice.
With force I tried to hide the weakness,
arbitrary rules, the double edged blade that you came with.
what happens when
you discover that
when I yell
really really loud
Girls made of thick thread,
with hearts that chase desires
Come to drum this metal roof in sixteenth
and thirty-second notes, to puddle, gouge
a dirt road that spins the tires’ worn teeth.
I sit with the girls that hide behind their books,
and hurry through the hallways hoping no one would look
The girls that stand in front of mirrors
someone has fashioned me
with a wretched beehive
and left me to tend it
If she squeezes me any tighter
I was just a pink water balloon,
salt and pepper follicles
an antique framed
limited edition preserved
the ebony and ivory
legs thinner than sipping straws
supporting a body too frail for words
strength and shine
will settle in those eyes of magma
I exist in mid-air.
I will hit the earthRead More
I have something I need to get off my chest; it arrests my body up and around the curve of each breast. It is a lacy prison I will detest, I will debase, I will deplore – It’s the place for the boobs you abhor.Read More
From a sky of Payne’s gray
hail stones collect on a patio.
Inside a clutch of women rise from their chairs,
open a sliding door, reach out their hands
After thirty-four years of being carried
from house to house
she is nearly too heavy to lift.
You were born as small as a mustard seed.
You grew and wore your battled torn scar-filled skin marked premature like it was made from cotton.
My quaint courtyard apartment in the heart
of Hollywood overlooks Capitol Records,
your old label -- you and countless others.
She stood at the altar,
veiled and waiting,
but he never came.