Honoring Fat Women Frannie Z   As a descriptor, fat honors. Lush, full, plus, zaftig are okay. But fat is a good, short word. We are a body type, not a disease. And the worst thing people can do is hide us in language.  …

Family is not a tree With only names to bear Family is not people in a home When there’s a lack of care Family is people brought together With love in their hearts they share Giving freely without condition And not a moment to spare…

time was too abstract for me back then I couldn’t measure it well in my head he came back from sea and every time I knew he would leave again that day, he left in a hurry no goodbyes no hugs no kisses he was…

straight down from the heavens I swear it! he says as if we might not believe him the lightsmith himself has forged this one you’ve never seen anything like it we follow him outside and he points to the horizon whiter than the sun and…

A closed front door A stranger, neighbours Possibly a friend, Or a friendly neighbour, Maybe one who is upon you a task fallen, A message to deliver, But whoever is inside, It is a closed front door. Possibilities and impossibilities abound, Infinite stories waiting to…

His name is Chris. His lips are poisonous. His mind is multi-faceted. His penis is loose. His hands are corrupt. His tongue is silver-lined. His laugh is forged. His love is betrayal. His heart was never mine. His name is Chris.

after tomorrow I become another person unlike who I am tonight. this person is tired, tomorrow she is vivid, revived, without caffeine, you will see another butterfly emerge.      

A force not to be reckoned with, unpredictable weather changes, April is a beautiful month, cherry blossom season, full of springtime lovers, quarreling over simple things like, are you a lesbian? no of course not, loving someone who can’t possibly return the intimacy, lesbian feminism,…

One thing that poetry Has taught me outright Is you can’t beat the word When it’s put into rhyme Where things may start out dull Changing with time Before you know They sparkle and shine As they weave in and out Of poetic word play…

“On Fridays, we eat fish,” She told me as we’d walked up, chatting, from the Waterside. The train track, routed by the river bend, Arched underneath the city’s second bridge. A towering form (or so we thought so then); Two mighty levels for the traffic…