Thanks for being glitchy — i Don’t need to bring my LAptop – An ipad and this BluetootH keyboard will DO Just Fine, I Think. I can type on the PLAne, on. A Train, In the back of an Uber, or the. Shade of a kindly OAk trEE with SWaying branch es. Why, all of…

a bi poem — This poem was first published in the Fall 2015 issue of Bi Women Quarterly, which had the theme “Pick a Side.” Minor corrections have been made to this version of the poem. Republished at the request of my mom. The grass always seems greener on the other side, when you…

a poem for Mary Shelley — The August sun burned hot the day he was cremated, the sea-bitten body no longer the man she loved but something Other, something strange wearing her lover’s best suit, washed ashore like so much driftwood on the beach at Viareggio. Though tragic and young, the sea did not forgive him…

a poem and a writing prompt — Deep breath in: It’s over. ‘Passed with no corrections.’ Four words about one hundred thousand others, a ‘life’s work,’ complete. Exhale. It’s over. What do I do? Now, my life begins? #WritingPrompt: What lies ahead when you accomplish the thing you’ve dedicated your life to? This poem/prompt was written in…

A poem about a kiss — “Adverbs are the tool of the lazy writer.” — Mark Twain You lean in slowly slowly and drunkenly drunkenly and unsurely unsurely and eagerly She catches your lips eagerly eagerly and sloppily sloppily and gracelessly gracelessly and painfully Teeth knock together painfully. You laugh together breathlessly. Rain patters the window…

A poem about old friends — Like termites, they come out of the woodwork chipper as ever chip chip chipping away at every good thing you post on the Internet. They “like” your announcement and then go out like fireflies at daybreak, silently disappearing for another four years. Like mosquitos, they come around each summer hungry for news suck…

New year, new me, new knee — I am newly threaded: a button held together with pieces of string cut and tied and sewn back together I am rebuilt out of spare parts ligaments formed from unused tendon cut and tied and sewn back together I am a brain in a meat suit worn by a skeleton …

Is this a poem? — One day, a long time ago, I read that because time seems to pass more quickly as you get older, you’ve lived more than fifty percent of your life by the time you turn twenty-one. Days turn into hours turn into minutes turn into a camera flash, a single moment…

A poem about the rest of our lives — Happily ever after is deciding what’s for dinner every single night for the rest of your life. Happily ever after is “leftover surprise” on Sundays or breakfast-for-dinner or fend-for-yourself-tonight. Happily ever after is “charcuterie” on the road: crackers and cheese cubes spread out on the console a veggie tray on…

A free-form poem — How very boring it must be, without a hill to die on; no ups and downs nor endless sea, the only roads leading straight to compromise. Upon wide-open plains of accommodation and empty parking lots of complicity — this is where you choose to make your home and raise your family…

Response for the Poetry Writing Challenge — Inhale Holding her nose, she dives right in, plunging down, down, into the cool, dark ocean. Inhale A nervous mother waits with bated breath for her daughter to break the water’s rippling surface. Exhale Blowing salt spray from her mouth, smiling, she emerges, exalted, waving back toward the shore. …

Micro-Madness 4: Peach — Do I dare eat a peach? She wears white, flannel trousers and walks slow along the beach. Fuzz against my lips juicy flesh against my cheek; what would my parents say if I dared to eat a peach? I dig my heels into the sand, feel the sun on my face. She…

Word-a-Day Prompt: March 2, “Season” — pink petals adrift in the river of my heart: cherry blossom girl stalking crickets in a butter-yellow sundress through the tall, dry grass she waits for the wind to call her home for supper, the streetlamps alight kicking off her boots she is in my arms at last; sleep the cold away…

Word-a-Day Prompt: March 1, “Lion” — The man with the laugh has his mouth set firm: he will not budge, nor surrender. The little lion man calls the shots, bravely standing among his own men, eating at their table; the face of a resistance was once a comedian. The kind of leader needed when the air hangs…

Prompt: Fear is the best teacher — From the fountain of knowledge the child imbibes fearlessly knowing already everything she needs to know in this moment, as the first sunset she’ll remember drops below the horizon, with her hands outstretched to the fire then eating a gooey marshmallow — she spots another white treat, chubby fingers grab a hot coal and she learns for the…

Prompt: The Morning Mist — A sigh of relief before the world is awake haunts the dewy air in the quiet dawning light at home in the morning mist. This poem was inspired by a weekly prompt from Promptly Written: “Poetic Visions — Set your senses free — The Morning Mist.” Thank you Christine Graves…

Prompt: Home Remedies — The ancient Greeks used silphium to extinction as contraception. Drink bitter water. (Biblical termination.) It will come away. Cotton root bark tea can combat your late menses: natural reset. Put parsley inside (always freshly cut and washed) to soften cervix. Mugwort or wormwood, Queen Anne’s lace, penny royal, tansy, scotch broom, rue…

Writing Spark: (De)Clutter — When you have nothing, you keep everything. Am I a hoarder? I ask myself, picking through boxes of faded receipts, plane tickets, movie theatre stubs, loose pieces of foolscap. I make a scrapbook with all the important pieces, and still have a thousand left over. I moved out of my…

I didn’t light the fire, so I’m not putting it out! — Our downstairs neighbours have lit their apartment on fire. We smelled the smoke months ago Saw the warning signs, heard the alarms And did nothing. We plugged our ears to drown out the screams Closed our windows to the smell Locked our doors when they came knocking Offered no assistance. …

a poem of unexpected geography — “Woman has sex organs more or less everywhere. She finds pleasure almost anywhere… the geography of her pleasure is far more diversified, more multiple in its differences, more complex, more subtle, than is commonly imagined.” [1] Oh baby, touch me there! Slide your fingers into my armpit, press your tongue against my jawbone, swirl…