Love Song to Men
This is my love song to men.
And men who identify as men.
Not men who pose, snap pictures of you,
then drop you in gutters to drown
in waters they pour from the rooftop.
Katherine’s Coffeehouse
Doctrine
They called it
The Baltimore Catechism—
every doctrine has one,
but this book had a special creed
for teens: God, remind me
to obey and do what I am told,
remind me in order to be loved,
that first, I must be lovable.
Once, I Saw a Soldier
Once, there,
I saw a soldier,
leaning against a barren tree,
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Help Me Not Be Normal
Help me not be normal.
Help me when I am in formidable first grade,
counting my fingers under my desk because math is hard
and there’s too much talk from inside out and every last word
barges into my brain the way you did my bedroom
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Nightmare in Suburban America
i dreamt last night
i hid in an elevator
molding my back
into angles and steel
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What Betrayal Feels Like
I’ve decided it’s a birdcall,
not the Canada goose
I will be in the life
I live after my next, more
like the mourning dove,
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Heron – a draft
We aren’t much to look at, we poets, unless you look very closely, which most aren’t wont to do. It’s not that they don’t get us. They just don’t have time for us, missing the chance to see the blue feathered heron, one pencil-lead leg fixed in the sludge of the runoff in the morning.
What They Say about Hands – a draft
They say the hands will do what the heart has felt. Not knowing who they are (might be indigenous wisdom or merely a good meme from Facebook) I immediately think of hitting hands, because I clearly recall anger in fingers that had touched too much of life, the plated skin on their palms, ridged at
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