Category: Poetry

Poor boy, poor the girl / I was, neither really wanted to— / But the drinking in the room was boring, we were hard-thinking / bodies, and swimming was out of the question.

I thought nothing of ripping out a page / from the little blue spiral-bound notebook / my husband keeps on the coffee table— / until I saw the imprints of previous words / he'd written in his usual capital letters

I was a shit-list and snuck skeleton keys into whiteness and when I hit the woods I got lost. Shame became my monstrous after-shave.

a disk of light / fall on the glass // could be the full autumn moon / through trees / but it’s the wind

The sound of coyotes comes in off the balcony. Our dog stares, wild-eyed.

A week ago, I made a list of things I want to change. This morning, I assess progress.

An old game, // asking what you would do with an extra hour / if you had one.

When I open the door in the summer / three sparrows, picking crumbs off the threshold, / always scatter in an instant: small, brown, / so quick they are like excited heartbeats.