Snail Woman/Made of Sand

f7fad00178064806e7d9dd94461b5882Atwood said woman made of sand, I say snail woman
She carried her world strapped tumpline canvas thick
So heavy her brow wore down and now it’s feathered

The snail woman packs her things tight and tidy
In coconut shells and acorn caps and a bowled hand
Yes, they tip but glued they shake like ground seed

The snail woman moves faster than you’d expect
Across the sidewalk and yard and men and years
You never know where a shoe might crash down

The snail woman bops under her diaphanous shell
She stuffed pillows and blankets and cobwebs inside
There’s but a sliver of her body left in the mishmash

The snail woman reached the fence the other day
No pockmarks or marble holes to ooze through
The shell frayed like sand, Atwood knows best after all.

Banana Liquor in Mentone

Write about the first time you danced with someone you loved –

Right where his wings should have been
Hair traipsed, blond feathers brushed
My fingers tickled against football shoulders
Hills of bulk flattened as he laughed

Pinked words flew by steel train tracks
Such physical creatures are the young
Fluttered lashes and nothing of my mind
A cosmic joke, perhaps, for bodies to sing

Under the kitchen lights when outdoors
Authority looks on, ice-eyed and weary
While lovers sway, chest to chest, hearts
Aligned in shallow waters like tadpoles

Perhaps a cosmic protection, instead
Life preservers to the blade of experience
The moon bright enough to cut a path
And our eyes swathed in its silver smoke

Hope is balance in love as we age, for that night
My being leapt out as an unleashed spirit
And perfumed the kitchen with desperation
Which he consumed like a starving child.


32, Lost at Sea



It’s hard to say
The beauty here
Does not thaw me out
I try new things
Pry open my mouth
Stutter words
I’m still frozen
I’m still pushing
Through bramble
and sapped pine
Listening to
the seachilled wind
Stood at the sound
For something
To live for
than others

End of Summer


Inhale deep before you answer the phone
Unless you’d like them to see the pitch
black fog that surrounds your shaking chest ,
a voiceless hallow grove in winter

Drink an energy drink to peel your
numb body from the couch, and pray
that there is enough daylight to
carry you through your tasks

Link your arms around your heart
and pump your ribcage so that you
remain the red-headed walking dead
goddess who laughs at despair