Something sweet peppers the spring air like that perfect lemon tint that drapes itself over summer days, unaware of the mental dazebrought on by winter coatsthreatening to zip me out of this universe. The fuzzy buds on the trees wiggle with the breeze, another sign of spring steeping,luring the black-capped chickadees to sing of the coming sunny days the kind…
Tag: poetry
Ivory Queen
I watched as the other asparagus shoots sprang up toward the sun, just like all our lily cousins, plucked for their grassy inclination. I nuzzled the earth instead deep inside its soil, befriending the worms who swam around me sightless yet they too sensed the light above. Chubby, with milky white spears, I didn’t know…
Beneath
My mind soars over a landscape outside and within, my body a topographical map of freckles and stretch marks stretching toward purpose that can only be found nestled in the quiet of sleeping autumn leaves of stubborn fungi grasping to the remnants of warm summer days bracing for the cold that will pluck them from…
Among the Morning Shadows
I wish I could exist among the morning shadows, nestled in a bed of moss guarded by mushrooms where life doesn’t keep unspooling like the slack of an anchor thrown into the ocean.
I Am
I am not the thoughts that parade themselves one moment and light themselves ablaze the next. I am not the painful memories encased in a golden hue. I am not the shame loyally waiting by my bedside each night, nor the shame that rears her head whenever I mention my allergies, nor the shame that…
Graveyard
I keep falling in love with a history that doesn’t belong to me, the faces continually change but there is always a “you” and always a “me” and so I bury this “you” and that “you” in this mental ex-friend, ex-boyfriend, ex-lover, ex-whatever graveyard I’ve roped off in my head courtesy of all these people…
Flocking
I find myself flocking to the inbox of someone new nearly every day— what is it about constant correspondence I crave so much? It is the skeleton of intimacy, the shavings of human interaction and interconnectivity and somehow I’ve duped myself into believing that it is enough for me.
The Labyrinth
Most days my mind feels like the inside of a pumpkin— tangled, stringy, goopy, I wish I could just carve myself from the inside out, scraping out every last anxious ruminating cyclical thought, but anxiety is the Minotaur and the labyrinth that imprisons it, it is the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh Hydra head when…
Fishing for Light
If I were to as Pablo Neruda wrote, sit on the rim of my own well of darkness, fishing for light, I might see monarch butterflies emerging from a winged skull on a 1700’s gravestone, or the girth of a 200-year-old European beech tree snaking its way up the well to greet me, or maybe…
Why Pears 