Archive for the ‘ poetry ’ Category

I am unclean

I.am.unclean

I Dream of Girls

It’s hard to describe the weight and significance of my words being blessed by someone else and showing up in a new space. Today SheLoves Magazine is running my poem “I Dream of Girls.” I’ll welcome you over there if you want to read more.

::

I Dream of Girls

1.

The wind I least want

to wrestle

away: the whispering one

 

that howls in secrets

to the gentle girl

 

 

On Worth

What is the worth then
of rain glinting silver
when it falls, or boys
split out with laughter?
We banter on the word
weird, while the huddle
of science texts, glowing
invitational, stuns me as
deep as our planet’s
gravitational stability.
.                If I study lips
lined with chocolate
cake, or sobs that rock
the souls of the oaks,
have I saved a child
from the plague—have I?

Laundral Impasse: another Tweetspeak link-up

Tweetspeak Poetry invited me to write a poem about laundry this week, tossed in with an offer to be entered in drawing for a Scratch Magazine subscription. How could I resist? Laundry is so present, I might have more than one in me if you beg me to wring another out.

::

Laundral Impasse

Only walls know how I
laundered by hand and—
by back, arms, by this body—

how little I’ve laundered in compare
to the matròn bunched, swayed
over Riviere Cotes de Fer—

only my one day paused enough
to wonder why I’d relegate
this tactile communion
to a mechanical cube three
times my size when I am muscle,
I am water, I admit dirt hunkers
against the fibers—scrubbing,
wringing—

I have had enough! I sever
myself from the wash of women’s
fortitude that binds us all in

unity. I can take the grace—oh!
and couldn’t I have more?—

my Western wringing has left me
hanging for a generous Wind—

lay me limply, let me fold. I can
claim the four-four measures,
of garments in quadrants if only

to be clothed again. It is a small
preparation I can handle, this dress
over my head—

“by the time she reaches us…”

 

 

shellsfollowing July’s poetry prompt through Tweetspeak Poetry

 

Woman

Woman

Do you know
you are the soul
of your mother,
the Earth? And
when you watch
the lizard slink
across her skin,
together you
are bound up
in her arms
and she takes
you home—
ah, home.
Together you
have longed
for this return.

Explorer

Was there ever a time you wanted to hide

and the only thing near you

was a blanket—but you found

it had a mouth and its mouth so soft

the blanket was more like a kiss

that told you snow was as common

as Kleenex except the snowflakes

seen only by you in the darkness—

a darkness total yet uncertain—like

                                a cry for no reason?

 

:: This poem resulted from my second week in Making Manifest ::