Sand in Uncomfortable Places

It’s a peculiar sight– blood on the back hem of the skirt she wore while building cities out of sand. It is October. The summer’s sun now gone. The stain now brown, camouflaging with the cotton. The skirt catches fire, the sandbox turned fire pit expanding in the yard effacing the grass and dandelions, creeping…

Face to Face

Face to face with strangers on the sidewalk, the train They could have dyed their hair last night pierced that lip shed 50 pounds aged 40 years and we wouldn’t know it. Always face to face never phased by differences for we didn’t know them yesterday and only saw them will never know them they…


You skip town for a few days Underwear on the clothesline And come home to find that everyone’s dead or dying. The lint trap’s filled to the brim. The cat’s hair is in your cereal, but you can’t seem to find him. Your bedroom’s in the living room The living room is a storage closet…


They silenced the grandfather clock in ’08 and since then I’ve forgotten how to say “I love you” We wouldn’t know it – all quarantined behind locked doors, but its hands are still in orbit circumventing its core all running the two of us now fleeing believing our wanderings will keep its hands in motion…

White Space

10 AM – out from under the sheets avoid my reflection brush my teeth and coat myself in a layer of blood If not my own, then whose? Wait as the oatmeal in the dining hall is changed to soup Wait as the temperature creeps toward today’s high Wait for the gesso to dry and…

A Man Once Told Me

This used to be a dress I wore white silk with a grey collar but I don’t wear it anymore it clashes with my pallor a man once told me so I wear red and green and gold and every color of the rainbow but since my pale soul was sold I never wore my…


Entwined limbs once danced in fragranced baths, sprawled on torrid sand that burned pale thighs. I pine for grass stains on worn denim, but you “don’t remember” and I fear it’s time I forget too.

Ante Meridiem

On pillows of tomorrows immaculately ironed of all dooms Our thoughts rested in nests of yeses and alrights We lay and played each other carefully composing strings of lies Not sensing we were out of time


Perched on counters beneath her subtle rays roots extend in ceramic bowls blades welcome light in shaded halls.   Along comes young Chrysanthemum a pruner by her side for in her lonesome tunnel the moon dons cloaks and clipped the rope that once, in bleak December’s dusk, illuminated skies.


How loud must it beat? What blood should it seep? How red, how plump, how close to the surface for you to grab hold ? With a bow- can’t you see! she’s tired of parading its chambers.