I have fur on my arms But I’m not a bitch. I have fog in my brain but I’m not a ditz.   I starve myself Of things that I need So you will like me Please like me.   The only thing I can…

Giving Birth   the blank page stares at me mockingly   breathe, push, fight concentrate come on, write!   pen to page words flow free POETRY!     (Tricube rules: three syllables per line, three lines per stanza, three stanzas per poem)

Unconscious, trees breathe, alive, but not sentient.   Likewise,  we breathe, knowing few secrets of the spiritual in which we are immersed;   We splash about the unfathomable deep, teeming with forces for good   and bad–   Buoyant with life itself,   We drift…

Keepsakes I kept my Pope Francis coin stashed away in my lunchbox. Front pocket, protected by a zipper no one thought worked. I forgot I put it there so many months ago, but it never did rust, no matter how much I spilled or what…

Horticulturally lame my garden, half-way through June who knows how far into Midwestern growing season Weeds have a foothold but we have managed to keep the bulk of the interloping bastards at bay One pumpkin plant with two massive, yellow blossoms each bigger than the…

The windows crashed  A storm brew on The doors crackled A bird flew on The clouds roared A twig snapped Yet a girl in black Lay huddled under a crack The mist came at once Twirling and whirling Darkness everywhere Encircling and blinding So she…

Empty water bottles sit on my nightstand, having chugged them last night to hit my gallon-a-day mark. A vine of purple flowers, ten years old, finally hangs above my bedroom door, a thin canopy of color against the white walls. A salt lamp and moon…

Women with strollers pause languidly in front of my front windows— panes like chromatic stained glass, panes that love light like an invisible oil spill. The heat slows them. There is never a cry from the covered strollers. There is never a cry from them….

A beautiful heart Hurt and broken A dazzling piece of art Savage yet pained I am a lover   Far in the corner Head bent low A heartbreaking murmur Blocking everything else I am an outcast   Shining in the centre A star in the…

My mother is a great cook You can tell from the tantalizing aroma that wafts through the kitchen doors Swinging between sweet and savoury My taste buds ache with lingering torture pulling me to the source and the end Egusi soup made of vegetable, sweat…