Tag Archives: poetry



This is science:
I read that for years,
sometimes decades,
after a miscarriage,
random cells
of the deceased fetus
will remain
floating around
in the mama,
having crossed a barrier
and joined
with her tissue,
and altering her own
body in ways of which
she may not
be aware
or ever understanding.
So it is
with you.
This is science.
So it is.




The pearls of goat cheese in my salad
pleased me,
as did the chilled progression
of wine, glass after glass sliding
past the back of my throat.
Wandering the galleries pleased me.
I spoke with no one,
that pleased me too.

I touched a sculpture
(no one saw me tweak a nipple, then
twirl my finger in a navel)
and this made me feel
most myself, smiling sly with pleasure.
Degas hissed misogyny,
and Matisse blathered on
about the female form being
reduced to a few lines
and a bowl of fish.

I found you nowhere,
stumbled over my skirt
into illustrations
and lost my breath,
the heat of which was potentially
damaging to a collection
of rare photography.
A docent raised an awkward eyebrow,
asked if he could help
and I sobbed I needed to find
space in wich my heart
might break.

That last part didn’t happen.

This is what happened:

I thought I felt your shadow
in a hall of human degredation,
and tried to chase after you,
but instead I found Buddha
sitting in his lotus.
He looked so damn pleased
with himself I wanted to slap him
because I realized I was so alone
and I would not find you
and this displeased me.




I still tell you
all my secrets
sitting in the grass
at your feet
like a child.
I tell you other things
as well; how the birds
are popping in and out
of the house you gave us.

I want to see the softness
in your eyes
as I whisper I’m unravelling.
Please do not tell a soul.
My heart hurts so bad,
don’t you know?

Your eyes closed to me
and to the birds
and I am just a pile of stuff,
thread and twine with which
they might make their nest.
Not even a ribbon,
or anything silk
or fancy.

Someone suggested I ask
you to come to me
in a dream,
before I go to sleep.
But didn’t I do that?
Haven’t I pleaded
for dead not to be
just dead?

I think now, the most
for which I might hope
is that I be plucked up
in a beak and carried off
to be woven into
someone else’s secret.

Written as part of the WordPress daily prompt. 


The Effing Myth Of Healing


You thump around your life like
there isn’t anything else
going on in the ridiculous
birdcage of you–
you warm up with coffee,
you do the dishes,
you tell the dog she stinks and
laugh because you know you’re not
going to really do anything about it.
Meanwhile, your son practices
“Mary Had a Little Lamb” on
his trumpet, and you think,
this is it, this is the soundtrack
of my breaking heart,

but no one besides you would
ever know that.

She saw the way you interfaced with
the universe,
how you quivered
and cried and inflicted paralysis
on yourself to make it through
the day to a glass of wine and
gentle chat with your husband. 
She saw it all.
How could she not know you’d
bleed inwardly when she scooped
herself out of you and went away?

Remember the miscarriage you had,
standing on line
in the grocery store?
Remember how you bled like someone
opened a crimson faucet in you?


It is like that.
A startling, frightening death
of something before it truly
lived or breathed, and you
find yourself wondering
how and why you allowed
it to inhabit so much space
within you.

Now your kid plays “Twinkle Twinkle”
and you think of all the stars
you wished on, but it was only
a name puffed out into the sky.
A million moments will tick past,
you’ll decide to bathe the dog
then change your mind again,
look out the window at the birds
pecking their way through
all that seed.

You lost so much blood,
you were weak for weeks and ate
acres of spinach until eventually
you healed and started to move
normally in your world.
They do not give you an ultrasound
photo of a miscarriage,
but you have a photo of her. 
You look at it and sob
behind the bathroom door as the trumpet
belts out an “Ode to Joy.”


Written as part of the WordPress daily prompt. 

Extra special love and thanks to my darlings, Dani and Anjuli who patiently and tenderly proof read and critique nearly everything I write. 

i find myself fierce


stained by rain
i find myself fierce.
night sky
was all i had left of you
and if the moon and stars
hide from me
i am perfectly untethered,
feral, snarling in grief
at occluded sky.
it does not feel like freedom.
certainly, i could dance
or run or find the velvet lining
of a dream in which
i might learn to fly–
how might that feel to rub my skin
against the nap of night?
i do not care enough
to wonder or move,
but find my response is to
freeze, tilt my face up,
bare my teeth to the rain
and then fall back, stained
darker with wet in darkness.
tame, i whimper,
a star, a star.
my heart.


Posted as part of the WordPress daily prompt. https://dailypost.wordpress.com/2017/04/06/denial/

Only Forever


i recently read
everything changes,
life keeps moving and nothing
stays the same forever-
they were words meant to comfort,
but i look at the ocean
and think it’s only forever
and that is forever, 

whatever that means.
my insides fill
with the same icy, salty water
that somehow slips in steaming streams
down my cheeks.
nothing and everything is
only forever and i cannot see
as far as the sky can fly
over this freezing body-
but silly woman,
the ocean never freezes,
look at it pulse like blood in a stone,
like love in my marrow.
only forever.
i cover my face with my hands,
feel the heat of your name
whispered against my cold palms.