poetry - Page 3

Open Wide small mouth with too many teeth                                                  

When the sun drips underthe mud, I dive up. Dusk to dawn, baby. I knowwhat it is to wait all night, to holdheat in my throat like a secret. I wishI could

at          some         point while       you       create yourself        you        tryto           

  i am tired of eating mortar. my body is getting too heavy. when the girl at the ice cream shop doesn’t take my order, i joke if it’s because i’m chubby

I hushed my child, remembered the fallen squirrel who wouldn’t cryand how we played hours of recorded wails until its mother heard, pulled it from our dried fruits, nuts, towels, capful of water, and fled.

Oh Honey, Bless Your Heart   There’s nothin like Nana’s kitchen  with the angled door frames and the sound  of everybody bein ugly.                     

Letter from a Young Poet “Do not write love-poems; avoid at first those forms that are too facile and commonplace: they are themost difficult, for it takes a great, fully matured power

We watch PBS and learnhow every bird was a dinosaur,how the earliest whales were wolveswho found the water goodand disappeared into it. I get high enough to see that death is merelya change

You misunderstand me, mother.  You, who do not soften into me.  I’ve always wanted to say that to you.  Now that I have, I must remark on lesser  things: our pinky nail

ATTACHMENT THEORY Once she began spitting, foam dashing the windshield like snow, I reached sideways  from the driver’s seat and volleyed my fist against her breastbone. Twice. More than twice.  Don’t hit me!  She cried out