On becoming a poet — My writer self was reborn about a year and half ago, when I began penning stories from the dark times during my years of alcohol abuse. I had been free from addiction for two years, and the words were screaming for release. I have been writing furiously since then —…

A poem of wonderment — Every year they surprise me by getting longer. When did she get the legs of a woman? And him, with that smirk — the one I saw on his dad when we first met. While they thought I wasn’t watching, they became their own people — thinking thoughts they’ll never…

Why aren’t we living our best lives? — Task ~ a poem There is a tendency, here in the comfortable manicure of middle class, to sweep aside the minutes of our lives like buzzing gnats — the ticking tedium of every dirty dish, unfolded sheet, empty egg carton, urgent message, new post alert: Expected actions in the way of contentment. If only I…

A poem of relativity — On my walk today I pause for a worm crossing my path — it's outside the color of insides — the whole surface of it engaged in undulating motion, an unhurried hurrying of self across asphalt. And I wonder, what distant dream drives its motivation? I struggle with whether or not to…

A poem of evanescence — Who am I to judge the ugliness of brown bruises smeared down drooping petals — I don’t know what they’ve been through Who am I to prefer the pink explosions of botanical joy soft and fragrant like baby skin — Their ignorance of impending decay now foolish But still, I…

A poem of fervor — Lean in, sisters: bring your bosoms and your bulging booties to the fire and lay open your hearts for healing. You’ve spent half a century as the little girl pouting, now it’s time to choose a new career: there are too many victims in this world already. Bow your curly…

A poem of reflection — My particles have twins far from here: We’re non-local, quantum folk. I can’t track with these prism-people imprisoned in rectangles — screens within screens — non-dimensional sensational buzzing. It’s just too much to watch them thrash and flail, hanging on to a lifespan — no, no, it’s bigger than all of us, baby…

A poem of generational trauma — My mind wants to hold onto all my issues — peat-moss in my tissues — to grow agony and resentment — a hedge row between me and the world. It’s only natural for us — heaving, breathing, sentient beasts — to take our Hurt Feeling and groom it — an…

Before the Snowstorm Arrives (a poem) — I’m at the screen door sucking at this air to vacuum-seal it in my lungs — and also because I’m not sure that I can stare at the blue sky long enough to secure it in place. It’s like we’re all throwing impromptu parties through the rolled-down windows of our Subarus (amazing what a few photons can do for the…