Devil Bruise
I gave my husband bruises to plaster me with. Bare boned, I have pleaded with double edged devils to spare me from fingers engulfed in flame. But, the fire comes. Twisting my insides out, wringing...
View ArticleIf It Wasn’t For The Bees
No water. Small village. All these thirsty blossoms. Orange. Yellow. Weak bushes in hushed soil. We lulled them by Lilac, with two eyelids. Puffed. Purple. Bruised by honey makers, swollen from fresh...
View ArticleFruit Family
Some children have spiders in their brains, pressing buttons at bedtime, stopping nightmares, praising mothers. Other children have tapeworms. Cynical parasites eating juvenile appetites and vertebrae....
View ArticleThe Wedding
Undercover whispers about size and the rice. What will we do with the rice? Crowded family ties. Lines of sweaty palms caked with white rice flakes. My stems, baked in sun beams, waiting for a gleam of...
View ArticleNovember Legs
I have not felt my legs in four years. I hate months. Each carries different demons. November is a home-wrecker. Prancing in lives like a horse, with a horse, trampling my legs, shattering a fragile...
View ArticleBennie and I
Brought white blossoms, He did, on curved gravel roads that stood well. I couldn’t hear him. I was riding Bennie, my pale habit. My powder pastry mixing with me like toxic nasal drip. I picked up my...
View ArticleLike They Are In Love
I have magazine images in a black book, of brides and cakes and a mad hatter wedding. Orange has become a pattern. I follow it, on to the pavement laid over a four-tier that I chose. And has it come to...
View ArticleDeparture
Some eyes open like black holes, gravitationally throwing memorial stones through a moment, letting time break a silence that lingers in every muscle, every finger tip for a soft crash of...
View ArticleHot For War
I’m not so angry after all this time, he smells like honey, hot roasting in the damp evening. His carpet moves like the sea. I might be breathing, but he’s not. His blood is worn out in deep veins,...
View ArticleLove Letter
Amaranth, on my back, off the edge of life. Dangling cords fall like snakes, I hanged them there to dry me out. With you, it is cold. I can’t say that. I miss you, but I do not. Have you been tempted...
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