Poems from 2017
2017 is the year I hit my stride in writing poetry again. I was writing for Falls Poetry on Instagram, I was writing poems with Marie, and I felt like maybe I could actually be good at this thing. Here’s…
Category poetry
Bindings
I’m still tied in your old knots.All of you. All of your ties.Soft velvet cracked old leather. { they chafe just the same } Ghost bindings made of wordsand indifference. Young mouthswith mature plans young handsbuilding sandcastles in folded time.…
Things I Don’t Say When People Ask How I Am
I’ve been living in fantasies/of love with Patrick Stump/I’m worried I have high blood pressure/I had to throw away the juice because I was worried it would kill me/I think you hate me/my life is slowly crushing me/under the weight…
Cottonwood Seeds
I’ll follow you as cottonwoodseeds follow the wind. May into June,sun into moon, I will follow you throughgreen wood, to wherethe river meets the field.There I will lie with yousoft as cottonwood seedsdrifting over your skin,light as a kiss in…
Norwegian Snow
I mourn for things I will never know –how a mustache would feel against my lips,how a walk in the Norwegian snowwould freeze my January fingertips. How a mustache would feel against my lips,and how the Norway Northern lights would…
Incongruence
Our words meet at 90 degree angles –formal, rigid, and right.We speak complementary,measured phraseswith a known degree of truth,petty postulates provingagain and againcongruence. no room for error Underneath the theoremsis a question of necessity,of need, of wonderingwhat it’s all for…
Poems from 2016
2016 is when I rediscovered my love of writing poetry. Although I had begun writing poetry in my teens, life, marriage, and motherhood soon took over and I forgot how much I loved writing. I still kept journals in those…
Early Poetry
I started writing poetry when I was about 13, but it was all silly or terrible poetry. It wasn’t until I was in my late teens/early 20s that I really started to write things that I felt like were actual…
You Are Not the Sunrise
You are not the sunrise.You are the remainsof last nights rain on asphalt. As much at fault as pitter patterraindrops dropping skitter skatterapologies from your dry tongue. Old weather glints in the sunand we ask whether what was lostis worth…
A Leviathan Through My Hermitage
The color of your shoulders becamea kaleidoscope of dragon’s breath,a leviathan through my hermitage. I never knew if your laughter startedas a lazy smile swimming over your face,or if it bubbled up like sea foam. If you moved through the…