Poems

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Three Poems

"Perhaps you are like the rabbit /

outside the fence, trembling in place, /

having just escaped the hound’s /

frustrated advances. You blend /

with the dark like the rabbit’s hide /

blends with the tree’s bark.

Stay /

very still and perhaps the dreams /

won’t find you."

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My Heart, Not Hers (And Not Hers Either)

"If not for Buffalo Wild Wings and their extra large beers, /
my husband might have divorced my extraordinary self /
right at the airport. A man traveling with the least wise /
version of his wife needs a drink, or two, or three, /
because she will test all of his versions."

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A Woman

"By sunset, I am a creature sucking greedily / on the last light of day. I eat and eat, and yet

I am always hungry, and my children are always hungry."

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We Eviscerate What We Love

from Tahoma Literary Review

issue 20, Spring 2021

"A rabbit lies belly open on the kitchen floor, / its glassy eyes refracting lamp light,

 

viscera spilling onto tile. I read /

its warm pink innards like tea leaves

 

before trying to lift the open envelope /of its body in my hands and out the door."

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Myth-Making

The Nervous Breakdown,

July 27, 2020

"She says, Mama, I feel two beats on each side of me, so I think I have two hearts. I answer, When I was a little girl ... "

Why Our Mothers Panic

from The Southern Review, Spring 2012 and Verse Daily, September 2012

"On days like this, her head is not a skull filled with networked matter, /

its own system of fences and walls built up and torn down over time. /

It is an empty cavern sleeved with hanging bats"

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We Eviscerate What We Love

from Tahoma Literary Review

issue 20, Spring 2021

"A rabbit lies belly open on the kitchen floor, / its glassy eyes refracting lamp light,

 

viscera spilling onto tile. I read /

its warm pink innards like tea leaves

 

before trying to lift the open envelope /of its body in my hands and out the door."

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A Woman, Split

from Stirring: A Literary Collection, Volume 16, Ed. 5

"Now imagine I am three.
Not the tree. Instead,
a totem made of flesh

beneath a wooden sky:
my many fingers spin
the thread of possible lives."

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What Our Mothers Know as Love

from The Gettysburg Review, Summer 2012

"his mother sees the fear leaping from him like flecks of foam: /
it is more than a squeal ringing in her ears; it is a throbbing in her intestine, /
a pulse that makes her run back and forth, wailing."