Love x 48 = Lucky Lucky Me

It's my birthday. Reflecting on Forty-Eight. (!?!)
I'll go with words from national treasure Maya Angelou:

I'm a woman
That's me.


#YesAllWomen: Trust

What is it
that nearly ten years later
is starting to crack
and flow
like water pouring off our roof
when the ice dams broke?
You pull me toward you,
not to strike me,
but embracing me in greeting,
missing me
like the mountain that loved the bird.
My name is joy.

I remember
my head against a pool table
like it was yesterday,
and so I think
your hands at my collarbone
could mean no tomorrow.

I am strong, but you are stronger.
You cradle my head in your hands,
arching toward my lodestone.
You will lead my way.
Sound your horns! I have arrived,
exposed and triumphant.


This poem appears in my first book, Responsive Pleading.


Grooming Lessons

Can I please wear it?


(Your favorite


   like a bath
 before going out.


(Where did she go?)


        She went out

For my own occasional music prompt to the Real Toads: So Much Mine


Between Chapters

Long legs of daylight
close for shawl-shivered evening,
goosefleshed knees of night.


The Great American Novel

Tossing in the wind,
unexpected plot twists
buffeted by passing cars,
Times-Roman somersaults
on bright white pages
by the hundreds
tumbled on the highway
like a Carnival krewe’s confetti
with me as Marshal
leading the cavalcade
through loose chapters,
seeing pages of my own verse,
nimble on the wind.


The Care and Keeping of Fragile Things

Thank you for the hibiscus--
gorgeous, like May weekends.
Like you.
Truth is, I’ve had bad luck
keeping hibiscus alive.
But I’ll tackle hibiscus care
anew, tending
each fragile flower,
my gift from you.

Truth is, you were gorgeous
like a hibiscus, or an angel,
but hard to keep alive.
I was unprepared
for how fragile
you were. I read books,
lost sleep, prayed to angels
that you would wake
each morning.
Now, your wild hair flying,
long legs running,
stronger-every-day arms
wrapped around Mama--
Mama’s heart wrapped around yours,
you can be broken still.
You’re fragile, we are fragile,
flowering still.


The Blink of an Eye

Our house
will one day
blow into the ocean;
high wires
were rigged to collapse.
One sixtieth
of one minute in a year
representing all millennia
will be lapped by lava,
folded in a cosmic tear
of little consequence.
If we’re barrelling
down extinction,
let’s breathe in this second
and the next
as they pass.

For the first Flash Fiction 55 hosted by Real Toads!


Chapel Street

The house
is changed
when he’s out:
with questions
she never asks.

For Kerry’s prompt to the Real Toads: Vignette


It's a Laugh Riot Over Here

Funny how
lists of things you need
never include things
you already have,
when truth be told,
what you have
is what you need most,
and that is not very funny.