Tag: Poetry

Suburban Dream

Suburbia is a nap. Not an early evening nap that fades to night and eases into the next morning, but one of those thirty minute cat naps after which the sleeper jolts awake in a state of confusion and spends the remainder of the… Continue Reading “Suburban Dream”

Window Thoughts

  Mom stopped smiling last week. I don’t ask why, the tea kettle blows steam. Music from the top of a glass bottle of Coca Cola. Sometimes, I gotta lick my chapped lips before playing the tune. My tongue scrapes the dry spot I… Continue Reading “Window Thoughts”

In Memory Of

  It’s that moment of teetering before ground meets head, shards fly, an internal air raid, sirens. Silent seconds before tornado. No looking back to what was hidden in dirt, or painted grass raking jagged nails through hair, eyes closed through breezes, they open.… Continue Reading “In Memory Of”

Afternoon on a Lake

We wrote poems in cigarette smoke, or sex as it ran down the side of a boat intertwined in water from a dammed-up lake, forced to exist.   Ash singed the pages, humid moonlight that burned our hands until we could not touch. drops… Continue Reading “Afternoon on a Lake”

Once, I Was Asked Why I Stayed (#1)

The necklace around my neck hands or curse words slipping   across a Pine-Sol floor I should’ve cleaned better                                     like dishes   slamming against a wall the muzzle chilling my temple an empty freezer expired chipped paint over a patched hole  

Childhood, Fragments

My first memory was my dog dragging a dead rat into my bedroom. Mom walked in I played with my limp toy. Its polished eye watched, she scolded the pup. Showered, I sat on dusty carpet and listened; the owl clock above the sink. Her… Continue Reading “Childhood, Fragments”

As a Child, Words Hurt Worse Than Being Hit

    I could still walk into that house and smell leather, the sweet odor cracked into peach wall paper that closed in on my body until I vomited fields of soy beans. Outside of the rows, I’d pick wild berries. An almanac cautioned about… Continue Reading “As a Child, Words Hurt Worse Than Being Hit”

A Sunday Drive Through Kansas

  The road was a flat sheet, a Nascar announcer’s voice between waves of static. Corn, shriveled from unseasonable drought, I waved at the oil wells we passed and counted them through the window   crunched with brown grass as I laid in a… Continue Reading “A Sunday Drive Through Kansas”

Despite the Purchase of Venetian Blinds, the Oil Painting Faded

Curtains tap against the wall like grass, or taking a nap at noon. A fly lingers above this ham and cheese sandwich, uncut– relished by green cavity. Inside the third bedroom to the right, down a sea-foam hall, the bulb in a porcelain lamp fades and… Continue Reading “Despite the Purchase of Venetian Blinds, the Oil Painting Faded”

Curiosity Doesn’t Always Sneak Around Killing Cats

Curiosity Doesn’t Always Sneak Around Killing Cats   On Friday nights she puts on Ariats, clouds of smoke, clanking shot glasses.   She prefers to recline in a dryer chair, pink lemonade. At the gas station practicing checkers, a pitcher of sun tea. Between… Continue Reading “Curiosity Doesn’t Always Sneak Around Killing Cats”