Remember back – not too far back. Goalies didn’t wear masks. Bikers didn’t wear helmets. We rode in the back of station wagons, sometimes even in hatchbacks, no seat belts, or in the beds of pickups, nothing but wind and a tailgate holding us in. Those were dangerous times, they tell us. They had no […]
I write angry poetry. But this morning, I’m not angry. No, I’m stretching like a caterpillar, crossing a jeweled leaf in late summer, satisfied having eaten another, needing nothing more now than these droplets on my many feet, and natural love letters written in veins, not thinking of drinking, but looking up. Is that a
Was there ever a time you didn’t judge? Approached a foreign-looking man, shook hands, ignored the sandy feel of his palm against yours, his callous, knotty knuckles irritating your sweet skin smoothed by shea butter and shorter work hours? What did you do? Did you smile for real? Did you try not to stare? Did
I’m not cut out for the apocalypse. I’m not built for Armageddon. Sure I’ve got the bulk to survive a random famine, or float around the flood zone, but really, I’m just not the type to die. See, I still believe in possibility, in potential, in humanity. Stupidity on my part? Wishful thinking? I think
There, on my office wall, above the lamp and tiny, sterling Buddha, a house centipede, more legs than a marching troop. How they move in unison, soldiers obeying a single brain, beautiful in their complex simplicity. Except…one leg is missing. You have to look closely to see it, the gap in the line, the
If I charged what I was worth, the world would be poor. That’s not a brag. That’s everyone. Look around. Look and say with certainty, “I see the gold of El Dorado.” It never was a myth. Look! There…there is potential. There…there is talent. There…there is honesty. There…there is the one I thought I lost
#GrowingUp, I housed a battered, silent, shriek: “#StopFighting!” It never moved out. #KatherinesCoffeehouse
I should go to bed, bury my ear and head in a pillow of sweet smelling sheets and sleep, maybe Egyptian cotton, or something on sale I bought off #AmazonPrime. Because, see, I spend so much time online, I start to see things like #promos and #discounts and #coupons as #BigData puppies tugging at the
On days when #FacebookIsToxic – those are the days to #WritePoetry. Go ahead. #Hashtag the hell out of #inspiration, #art, and #TheCreative. Use whatever #MetaphorWorks. Breathe #life back into a dead thing gone wrong. #Lazarus didn’t rise because #JesusHealedHim. He sat up in a stony tomb, peeled away his gritty bandages, felt the new, smooth
I’m going to miss my neck. No, I’m not headed to the guillotine, or decapitating myself in some obscene science experiment – though my brother wants to freeze his brain, not by eating ice cream, but trying cryogenics. I’m not into it. But I digress. Last year, I held a funeral for my uterus. It
