i used to sing in my bedroom

&i was happy beyond all reason
beyond all crabgrass &homemade curtain
with bits-o-honey saved back on my shelf
farrah fawcett’s teeth were smiling at me

i was a horse with a mop for a mane
jumping puddles &jumping real hurdles
i practiced a hook shot over and up
and when it’s best to leap off from a swing

i raked the untouchable skies back then
i had no reason to think of the sea
with peas &carrots on brown china plates
thoughts on a ceiling; free-floating as dreams

and yes actually, i had a tree
with bendy branch for an elevator
above dad’s pompas grass &blue fescue
my bones willed themselves to be un-broken

i could go /toe-to-toe/ in /tic-tac-toe/
with anne murray or helen of ready
spinning their gold upstairs in my room
i was happy &little bit heady

[linking with Poets United & Poetic Asides]


giving up her rose colored glasses by Maggie Grace

giving up her rose colored glasses by Maggie Grace

i think somebody might be doing it right now
touching a screen, #hash tagging me, stealing
my vowels, cherry o’s from my mouth, swiping
left, scrolling right, &skipping all that poetry shit

#youcrazygirl#youknow– just send us your face
with some uncreative writing without any longing
&smile in that new sensation which spans the globe

#youknow i only take selfies for you
what is a body?
#croppedcarcass, re-touched, &filtered
what is a body?
#modifiedmouths that used to savor the flavor
of landscapes with people in it
what is a body?
that i may enter it without imagination in fugitive time
on a landscape that can’t be found
401 page not available : oops :
try using the search box below
are you smash tagging me?

sweet jesus, i think somebody might be doing it right now

linking with Real Toads

At Seventeen I Heard God’s Voice

old_couples_in_love_are_so_cute_640_11“You’re going to marry him someday.”

“You sure, God?” I said, “Because we’ve never talked.”

So when I got switched into Michael’s homeroom I started talking. Want to ride horses? Want to ride?

After Michael said yes, I knew God wasn’t lying.

Late to Women’s Fellowship

the miracle was this:
i made it inside
&the snake didn’t bite
me out in the burnt
white wilderness;
this is what i said,
this is what i said.

the miracle was this:
i stopped talking
double-talk to
actually say it right;
i’m barely making it,
no if’s, ands, or but’s,
i’m barely making it.

and one lady’s shoulders
relaxed &i could see it;
&i was freer than free
to eat two slices of
her cold cut sandwich
because i had made it,
because i had made it.

no, i had it all wrong.
the miracle was this:
that while i was nowhere
close to the table but
praying to outrun that snake,
a woman coolly made me
this sandwich.

for Real Toads

You Done Laid Around

“So come on”                     Home. Fat cat
I said, “Come               on back to
sweet                                San Antone
your soul sweet           ham bone
–one thing,                           is fried chicken
Two things:                        finger-licking
You cool                  bad cat
under that,                        cool, cool hat
You done                        laid around
and spoiled            so get
yourself                 back.

For Real Toads
A dubious mix of Taj Mahal soul & the Dr. Seuss

No Love Lost


I hated her running around
and strange men coming
from all around just to
smell her cheap perfume

When I turned sixteen
I left her
&checked into
the state mental hospital
only I kinda wish I didn’t

Too many experimental drugs
&no-nothing nurses who
really just taught me
the manners mom never
got around to sharing

When I learned them right
&pulled my-selves to-gether
they said I could leave;
and I was all too glad

After a whole year
of locking myself away from
freedom &direct sunlight
I was ready to do
another terrible thing

I kinda wish I didn’t
walk down the street to
a nice ladies shop to buy
mom that new dress

I’ll be damned if
she don’t even remember
that dress– in a box when upon
opening looking just like the sun
melted in buttery ribbons

for Poetic Asides

Abortion Appointment

My old man’s cash
I stole from his wallet.
He never saw it,
Or maybe he did.
A poke, a probe;
You alright sweetie?
The nurse, my purse.
Did I drive myself here?
It’s gone. It’s gone.
The wad from his wallet.

She Can Read Words

Do you want to know what it’s like living
in a body with neighbors pushing though cracks?
What’s it like growing soft grass and limbs
regardless of proper watering?     Unfortunate,
really– a girl’s index finger is glued to her thumb.

Poor thing has two arms;  poised &ready to run.
Three silver snaps at her crotch make her feel safe;
like there could be a garden wall;  like the litter-free
slogan on the billboard might one day mean something.
“Don’t Mess With Texas.”  Don’t Mess.

Home-Grown Tomatoes

They are crutched on vines
with soft green ribbons
well beyond their youth.
Wire cages like ribs protect their girth.
They start as white star flowers not unlike jasmine
but without all the perfume,
because it’s too hot for that.
Ain’t got time for that, mama says
when all you want is a home-grown slice of heaven.
So she eats one whole, followed by two, three, four.
Hand over mouth.
Doctor said it’s too much. The acid. The pulp.
But the first of my brothers inside her tummy
swells to an unexpected weight;
a fist size of the fruit she loves.

for Real Toads after Jane Hirshfield’s
“Green Striped Melons”