#10 Autobiography of a Body

Anatomy is a peculiar thing. We don’t get to choose it and yet end up being judged for it. Too short, too tall, too asymmetrical, too disproportional, too feminine, too masculine. Too human? I was born not-too-tall, with little feet and tiny toes, but not-too-short…

Self-Portrait

Vanity hung, to glitter silver, the young eyes watch, musing. Already I see the age, the pull of taut skin going slack, the dull shine of eyes blue, white leaching dark color from me and spotting elsewhere, slowly, bones pitted and mottled, stained with each…

Loss of Self

When yesterday repeats itself today When life is full circled Not that it will all make sense Or that hindsight is 20/20 Rather when blah and gloom takeover And loss of ‘will to do’ sets in What vibrant livelihood once enveloped your persona Left in…

Poem #10

Glistening droplets, rivers running in the streets, dark clouds overhead.

Flight

Birds on winged flight. Unseen wind lifts and carries, Suspended in time.

Kai…..

….of the sea, and earth, and stars he rode in on a pulsing red wave settling all safely into his deep, blue ocean where we became his tides washing ashore to lap delicate granulesĀ of sand and turn the shells back to him, as he waits…

Grandmother’s Toy Box

Grandmother’s Toy Box Virginia Carraway Stark Mystical Magical toy box With unlimited Possibility Every time a new discovery Little red riding hood Flip her She turns into a wolf Puppets And dolls In handmade dresses and coats Storybook treasures Of pirates and ghosts Lego pieces…

Stuff

A tissue box of ugly roses sitting askew atop DVDs. Their broken player’s four short green lines a disturbing lie. My guide holds children in a painting of orange, black and yellow. Stevie Ray and Jimmie, a rare photo, on a shelf marred with grime….

Autobiography Of A Face

I pick at my skin. Right now there is a small hole next to my mouth, just below my left cheek. I say “hole.” I think of deeper, darker holes in friendlier ground, soil that does not erupt with blood. This isn’t a hole in…

Creative Death Mystery

Our lovely and brilliant creativity has met a most unbecoming fate. She is dying. The suspect, it seems, is a succubus, using her vitality and strength in adversity against the unsuspecting among us. We erode, our minds blank. We can’t remember usernames or passwords. Please…