Sunday Mornings

Late morning mother made me hold the rooster’s legs as she hunched over holding the wings a horizontal slash across the neck   The blood poured into a round ceramic bowl muscles twitched in death my hands struggle for life   It was a necessity for the ceremony father would perform later for grandmother sick... Continue Reading →

On a Street

Music filters out the café door where I sit with my friend, cigarettes and coffee in our hands, commenting on the dress of passersby, who could care less about our existence.   Though she wants to be great, she fears doing something not ordinary. Once, she was great at soccer but it wasn’t cool to... Continue Reading →

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T’is the difference between bad poetry and good:   Bad poetry sometimes enthralls the way a pretty girl standing at the bar attracts the eyes and tugs impulses.   Good poetry ____________moves.

This Solitary Girl in a Box

brilliant imperfection ___unmolded Davidian banzai natural sculpted unscathed nothing confined refined   Carvers, clippers, shapers. Language.  Night and day.   ___i don’t want to give in   withering windless leaves ___stemmed to branches gravity resisted ___that friction unresolved tension   unbanked rivers flow ____________________to everywhere deformed conformity ___losing herself her brilliance so natural so undefined... Continue Reading →

Fall

the thinning air scares me ___away to the valley withering wandering __________towards the valley in mid-October’s rain flooding dry decaying leaves   cold wind’s discomfort brushing my face _______________reminding me I’ve forgot ___cold winds carrying emotions, leaves me wondering ___________why everything is starting __________________________to go away   in Autumn’s departure- ___what is this I see... Continue Reading →

Girl’s Room

______For George Oppen   A stranger peeked in Plath’s and Dickinson’s windows late at night, and thought, “Man, these are lassie rooms,” and laughed   alone.  Yes, a woman’s room is a girly room, and I hope men know that   the intelligent prostitute will excite a man, a whore not a girl reaching for... Continue Reading →

Simple Clarity

_____For Jean Donnelly Oh, Jean, it’s okay If you do it beautifully,   My name’s rhyme Nothing else should Clarify so simple   The pen’s condensation A long draught The ink’s condescension A first draft   The end product ___begins logic Who creates I know ______I shall meet— The scholars—and The daffodils— At night the... Continue Reading →

Migrant Burden

Migraine headache ___a migrant backache ______from father to son. An American daughter-in-law _____our burden together.   Donna wears her emotions on a flushed pale face washed with ivory cream ___what she brings to the table white rice _________mother taught her to wash and steam.   Her father and brother wonder why I never finished business... Continue Reading →

For an Old Lover

I can see your gaze on the horizon, steady, not like mine as I drive alone glancing at everything ____________________that measures how far I am from home.   The number on the trip odometer is a fraction, nominal in the permanent measurement, scant but significant, vital to the equation’s precision, it itself a testament, _________________as... Continue Reading →

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