All omens are personal. Some are for old men with teeth in their pockets. Others are for mothers with ten arms and four legs. Mine is a silver dollar that I didn’t give to the man under the bridge. I planted it in autumn, but I won’t make it to spring. The girls say I’m too busy to pay attention. But who can watch the ground when the rain might come? If I drop dead outside, they’ll keep the homegoing short. You’ll know me by the hours of the birds. Count ‘em slow like you love ‘em, like you meant to do it, like you’ll miss the sound of the last wings. Baptize the fried fish and white bread in hot sauce.
... Published in Height Chart (Middle House Review)
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Some unboxed words
should be left alone. Those boxes hold jewels for my hair, spiders for my light, peaches for my sink. Don't use 'em all up. I pick a few to go with my baby teeth. ... Published in Roadrunner Review - after "Pilot Verse" by Matt W. Miller
Now to write a book of birth, eighty pages edged in gold. Now to crack back the ribs to peer inside fresh lungs. Now to scrape the cavities full of meat and metal ends. Now to spit into open hands thronging the empty flames. Now to let loose the wails waiting deep in my throat. ... Published in Roadrunner Review Dark, kind woman. Big, bright woman.
Hard, proud woman. Bold, light woman. Back straight. Head high. Wide smile aglow. She's shining in dim places and bursting into small rooms. Ain't no fist that can hold her. Show us who you've always been. Show us the way to the future. The universe moves forward, and she's calling back to you: Woman. ... Created for Shipt |