Take nothing for granted, she said.
Each morning you crawl out of bed;
I rise from the ashes and go sorting
out my bones just to begin the day.
You pour coffee and toss out
sleeping words you won’t remember;
I drop stones from my tongue and
pick them up when I’m finished.
I fold blankets perfectly from end to end
for the empty house to enjoy,
I straighten photographs
no one notices anymore,
I open and close blinds until
sunlight greets me at the perfect angle
I can’t stop
these uneasy waves
in my chest.
Hi guys! Remember me?
I know it’s been quite a while…but for good reason, I promise.
I’ve been keeping most of my writing under wraps because I’ve been working on my very first chapbook, and I am excited to announce that it is finally finished, and available for purchase on Amazon in both print and Kindle e-book form. I decided, at least for now, that self publishing was the best path for my work. The cover art was done by my great friend and tattoo artist, and I am over the moon with how it turned out. I can only hope the poems inside live up to the beautiful cover.
If you’re interested in purchasing a copy of my debut chapbook, all these things that haunt you, just head on over to Amazon!
Or, click this link.
Thank you all for the support you’ve given me on my blog over the years. I really hope you enjoy this chapbook; it’s been an exciting ride putting it together, and every piece is near and dear to me. Some you may have seen before, but most are brand new.
And if you do choose to purchase one, don’t forget to leave me a review on Amazon!
Thank you again. I’m looking forward to taking a breather and delving back into WordPress for a while. See you all around!
mother folds the rug back
while father sweeps
mother stirs the pot
while father fixates
on a crack in the ceiling
anything but the way
my shoulders jackhammer
while i am begging him
in some devastated tongue
to see me in some light, any light
they say a mother’s love knows no bounds
but what happens when your own mother
is so broken she cannot lift a hand
to see the way it looks so much like your own?
i am screaming with my mouth shut
and i’ve run out of bandages
to keep my bones from breaking
in one fragile swoop like some cheap trinket
i am grasping at straws made of sand
they turn to dust in my grasp
like this mirage that tries to
tell me i have a family
i kneel behind my son in damp grass
wrap both hands around his waist
point at whatever wonder the day is bringing
and i think: i’ve done this, haven’t i?
i’ve been on the other side of this
hands around my waist, so small
somewhere in the fog of another life.
Hello out there! Remember me?
I’m still writing furiously, but keeping things under wraps in hopes of being published means my creative well is drained by the time I get around to blogging. So it goes.
I’m popping in to encourage you to submit your previously unpublished poetry to the annual Sandy Crimmins Poetry Contest, run by yours truly.
Now get out there and write some fabulous poetry.
Details here: http://www.philadelphiastories.org/poetry-contest/
steven was a boy
with a name like butter
on my wind-chapped lips,
like marbles in the
pit of my juice box stomach,
like heat between thighs
just old enough to
straddle a poorly hung
tire swing over filmy lakes
in august heat
I bled for the first time
at a sleepover
somewhere between the
singe of burnt popcorn and
the nineties television
we played whisper-down-the-lane
as my innocence clung to my thighs
three girls in polyester
all differing shades of pink
thin hair, thin lips, thin minds
stuffed tissues in their
training bras while I
shifted on my pillow seat and
thought of him.
Hope you’re all well. ❤
I am very pleased to announce that my poem “Bloom” has been published in Issue 5 of Figroot Press.
Please, go here to read the amazing poetry I am proud to be surrounded by in this cool little publication: http://figrootpress.com/2017/07/01/issue-five-july-2017/
You can buy a copy via Amazon as well. Ahem. 🙂
you ask how I’m managing
but you cut your ears off
fingers smooth as
tree bark touch my wrist
there are daisies where your
eyes should be
you’re all I write about –
did you know this?
don’t be flattered
it’s easier to
write about misery
than it is to
write about love
to write about love
is to try slowing the
beating of your heart
to match the pace of your fingers
like holding a moth
in cupped hands
Written by Jacob Ibrag You love circles, at least that’s what you told me. You draw them without ever finishing. Open ended because, ‘what’s sadder than ending up in the same place?’ I gave you a ring and you hesitated because, ‘I don’t know if we want the same things.’ Photographer Unknown
via Circles — Eyes + Words
Hi!!! ::wipes dust off of blog::
I hope everyone is well. I’ve been writing, writing, writing…but secretly. I am trying hard for a chapbook, have been lucky enough to read at TWO poetry events in the last few months, and have also had two pieces accepted by publications (both forthcoming). I am feeling very creatively blessed at the moment, and am so excited to share those poems with you when they are released.
I’m stopping in to share a piece (I was fortunate enough to have Freshly Pressed) I wrote back when I was big and happy and very pregnant. My son will be two this Friday, and I am a big ball of emotion right now. What a whirlwind it’s been since he entered our lives. I couldn’t ask for a better life. He is the best thing that has ever happened to me and I am proud to be his mama.
Here’s a link to that piece I wrote before I got to meet that precious boy: a poet to her son
Wishing you all well.
and I am flailing for cover
done up Easter egg bright
she can find me by barely
trying, I am just too passionate
and yet she goes.
someone else can do it
snakes always say
no time to talk about feelings.
my bones crack and
suddenly there is sky
I crane my neck
for a better look
but only the clouds roll in.