Mister Weenie Man


i walk into Smart & Final
with 2 liters of extra virgin
olive oil cradled like
an upright football
in the palm of my right hand
a receipt for two hundred
and twenty-one dollars
is tucked in there too

i ask a smocked lady
by the produce and pumpkins
where can i make this return?
so i turn left and choose
the line i think will move
and right away the man
with a cart full of weenies
says go ahead, so i do

and i feel obliged
to make conversation
because i was let in line
between mozzarella mama
and mister weenie man
so i say are you feeding a
group with all this chili
and dogs? he says about 40

old men who like onions
and if he forgets the onions
they’ll be sending him back
then i smile as the clerk dribbles
cash from oil back in my hand
and i can’t help but thank the
nicest weenie man in all the world
as he gallantly nods, “anytime.”

Ebb and Flow


here’s how it goes
and goes and goes
the wind through
the window blows
–it blows
like music
in her voice
it flows
it flows
to where, to where?
the ocean floor
a small bedroom
beyond the door
in ebb and flow
rain drops on snow
this is how it goes
all truth, all prose

Hello Daughter

Maybe it was over lunch
and sweet potato fries
when our elephants left us
this new-fashioned easiness–
though I suspected something
unraveled when you traded
your zip-up hoodie for a
cardigan in eighth grade.

We can hug without a pinch.

When did our elephants leave?

Corpus Christi

eddies dance
on her ten-year-
old toes
for the first time
while wooing waves
draw her out
She romps
with mouth
wide open
and questions
the salt
on her tongue.
what does it
taste like to you?

Johnny Cash


in a while
in the trouble
between asleep
and awake
and twice this week
she ransacked
the radio for
Johnny’s voice
digging for
her roots stashed
in Kansas City
in San Antone
and Abilene
halfway between
heaven and hell
where both of their
low-toned truths
walk the line.

On Day Six

On day six
I lay myself down
In light cotton comfort
My gray t-shirt
Tethers me
To this body
To this rub
Of ribs against rug
A wriggle on the floor
Once and once more
As if dog or a cat
And I hear myself
Tell myself
Oh, never-
Mind that

prompted by Creative Bloomings





last friday night
i had a homecoming
of sorts if that’s what
you want to call it
flying north-northwest
i was grounded in a
parking lot puddle and
the janitor waved me in–
insisted on warming my feet
while i wrung out my wings
then i remembered
that dreams have their themes
so the rest is what i know–

i am here. at the first
united methodist church and
stairwells have their spirals
choir bells wear their smiles
heads are bowed, and eyes are closed
but something says lift your lid
and the ladies on the phones are there
and the books on the shelves are there
and the balcony seats are way up there
and grandma’s corpse is still down there
under one high wattage stained glass eye
and wouldn’t you know–
she winks!

and all that is within the north
the south, the east and west
is fulfilled
and my mom and the babies are there
and my best friend and her groom are there
and the stable for mary, joseph, and baby jesus
is there too

and i forget my wings
and push wide the gate on the elevator
and skip out the front double doors
the janitor holds open, for me,
for me to hop on my banana seat bike
and pedal my way home like i do
coming from jennifer’s house