Bring Your Kids to Work Day
What if on Bring Your Kids to Work Day I brought my books? What if I sat them next to […]
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Katherine’s Coffeehouse
Generally Speaking
It’s hard so hard to get specific. No one wants to wait while you try to recall words you really
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Pirate Life
Each March, I fall for it, the siren sun wading through blue to the abandoned crow’s nest over my house,
Saving Daylight
We did not spring forward – we looked there, all the while wondering whether approaching snow would march us back
Still March
Past eleven. Were it morning, it might not matter, but night’s a story that should have ended an hour ago,
Inbox
I got on a list, blown kisses by mega-marketers with a fetish for…construction? Aluminum piping, seamless gutters, steam rollers, ice
Submitting
I submitted because I saw ‘defenestration’ in a WWII detective novel, and had to look it up. The same day
Shoe
Now more than then, #Facebook needs #poetry, and art of the masters and royal ladies who dare to dabble on
Shutting Down
This cannot be my America. Where bloated power stuffs rags in the mouths of servants, weakened because some bastards removed
Comma, And
If I were a comma, would I opt for Oxford use? Would I find AP an ignorant Yahoo, mucking around
Monarch
When I look up, I see the wall in front of me, mirrored butterflies my daughter bought me, pressed against
Posting
Someone on Facebook said, “Bless and release.” I penned it on paper, a post-it note, purple, stamped with a teal
Stock
Shifting paper, old handouts, a stack of dog-eared folders, blank, brittle notebooks, pile of unread mail and must-smelling memories, just
For Zan
I was so jealous of you. You were that collectable champagne glass in my mirrored curio – gold-rimmed, slender stemmed,
Pittsburgh
When the day weighs more than I, and the sky hangs ominous as a loose chandelier, I find time to
Teeth
I used to dream my teeth fell out. I’d look down, and there, in a blue bucket, they sat, piled,
Back
Remember back – not too far back. Goalies didn’t wear masks. Bikers didn’t wear helmets. We rode in the back
Caterpillar
I write angry poetry. But this morning, I’m not angry. No, I’m stretching like a caterpillar, crossing a jeweled leaf
Barefoot
Was there ever a time you didn’t judge? Approached a foreign-looking man, shook hands, ignored the sandy feel of his
Apocalypse No
I’m not cut out for the apocalypse. I’m not built for Armageddon. Sure I’ve got the bulk to survive a
Centipede
There, on my office wall, above the lamp and tiny, sterling Buddha, a house centipede, more legs than a marching