I am
salt and pepper follicles
an antique framed
limited edition preserved
treasure
unique, among
the ebony and ivory
of life.
legs thinner than sipping straws
supporting a body too frail for words
strength and shine
will settle in those eyes of magma
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.
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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
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.
At this rate, there will be nothing left for my children. Too much
falling outside the body. A two-headed llama with no head
belonging to me.
Crumbs falling from the donut
you’re not supposed to eat
A health regimen for your children
and their children
It was so beautiful,
gleaming huge and iridescent
gold and green and blue and black.
With wings that should have been clear,
filled with shining rainbows
Because the worst thing you call a man is a girl.
Because in seventh grade I asked my mom why girls shave their legs and
she said it makes us feel clean.
Because I felt clean until she said that.
Because I shaved my legs for the first time that night.
We might have been Taoists
those early summer months
in the house, the loving energy
of chi guiding us room by room
as we unpackedand arranged
our new life.
Here I sit alone in my thoughts
A roomful of people and I'm still alone
What brought me here I don't really remember
Maybe it was a cool Autumn's night in late September
Blistering, seething pain
Relationships past.
Lurid misery feigns
A love that would not last.
Words I cull are threaded with bits of him
So savory and crude
Pieces of fat and muscle dripping off roast
And I told him the migraines are not aches
But dismantlers.
Grandma had wisdom to impart,
but not everyone made time to listen.
She lived downstairs in her daughter’s home.
As she lay in her bed at night,
she listened for the beating of her heart.
Melodies stole their way to her
and rhythms beat a path.
Little black specs
Curled hairs in a pile between her feet
A tear might have fallen down her cheek
But there was no moisture left in her body
Instead, a drop of blood fell upon the hairs [pulled from her skin]
As if in an effort to mask the results of
Her humiliation
Gloria sat beside the kitchen window
watching snow fall over sycamores
What could she hope for,
some good news brought by mail?
An unexpected call?
After punching in, she opens her
register, counts bills and splits
up rolls of coins. Her arms ache
from yesterday. From pulling together
store items, piling them in bags.