I dig for an artifact of me in myself–
hot shovel, cold hands. Last year (and the next),
I grieved on an airplane of my own longing,
finally over a peak to be proud of and the
outside would have killed me. Yet the air
inside was stale– passing breaths of confined
bakers, strangers, hagglers. Their quiet chatter,
occasional laughter only filtered through my ears.
I was (and will be) a hole better voids can fill.
(originally published in Agony Opera, Summer 2021)
A cave, a raven horse-
hoofed sunlit human. Your journey
to know you forward: yourself
tar. Orange toward opening.
Darkness, fire, form,
(originally published in Indiana Voice Journal, Winter 2018)
Pray to clogged brick, hardened
breathing. When I was young,
I believed in God and my mother
had good food waiting after school.
Rice and chicken, spinach
and pepper at the bottom of a soup.
Boiling then, now I drink water
in mason jars to wash away cheddar-
topped hot dogs I ate in some
destruction of the work Mom
put into me to get me here–
how she unclasped her hands
when I left for LA, let me fly
down the highway of fickle dreaming.
There was light at the end of that;
there’s a light at the end, still.
Now the intangible light swarms
my world, and I am too selfish
in my gluttony to eat it–
how a body can be full of light
but radiate a shadow of another,
one you had no part of in the making.
(originally published in Hessler Street Fair Poetry Anthology, Summer 2018)
You are not
sad. It is the mirror
who is sad,
transparent and flat
holding first your eyes,
then the bathroom’s.
The way black mold
into ceiling, where
neither of you
will do anything
(originally published in Typehouse Literary Magazine, Summer 2017)
I cracked an egg
with a butcher’s knife
watching yolk seep
yellow cracked surface
rough on my hands
two halves and a spill
in the sink
I have a whole
carton little hopes
silent things never
living never words
each heart to beat
to whisk to swirl
and wish a tornado
in this bowl of force
and gale in golden
pool in cauldron pan
and spatula pressing
hard over white turned
head caked edges
center sliced over
all this heat blackened
burnt but good
enough to eat
(originally published in SPANK the CARP, 2017)
Someday you will like
the way you look.
You are a mirror unbound
but you are present
and puddles learn
to love their
(originally published in Eunoia Review, Autumn 2016)
(originally published in Dulcet Quarterly, Summer 2016)