Poetry Publications

Poetry Publications

I grew up running

Published in HIKA Magazine, Spring 2024

I grew up running;

socks on and sliding,

careening about,

toes up,

gliding.

I grew up flailing;

arms out and fighting,

brawling about,

fists up,

lightning.

I grew up storming;

eyes wide and pouring,

lashing about,

heart out,

roaring.

I grew up howling;

ears up and scouting,

prowling about,

head down,

doubting.

I grew up kneading;

thumbs in and weaving,

swerving about,

chin up,

grieving.

I grew up stitching;

hands soft and seaming,

sprawling about,

legs out,

dreaming.

the sun- she likes to be manipulated

Published in Lyceum Magazine, Spring 2024

the sun- she likes to be manipulated;

broken from his hands blocking my eyes.

the moment. combing through clouds,

she hits. the heavens, and cracks
the sky. barely light enough,

another bleeding, heartbreak-

blind, beaten brooding to stay the night.

sunrise.

Laundromat Lobotomy

Published in HIKA Magazine, Spring 2024

Today it rained;

the weatherman isn’t the only man I don’t trust.

Tommy’s words take the shape of

my jacket draped over the chair at night

and I yell for my father to turn on the light and check in my closet.

The rain mingles with mascara

but that boy’s words are inscribed in my skin

and I remain inky.

I climb inside the steel tub of a white washer

and that laundromat washing machine asks me

if I want a ‘rinse&spin’ or ‘heavy duty’ wash and I wonder:

when did clean become so complicated?

The Anatomy of Red

Published in HIKA Magazine, Spring 2024

I have always been allergic to wool,

but something in me fears now that being touched

by it again would kill me.

He wore that red wool sweater like it was integral to his existence.

There is a white tub sink in my mother’s laundry room that has washed

paint off of paint brushes and period stains out of panties.

I held his sweater in my hands that night, over that white tub sink.

The water ran red out the other side of the wool

and I started in fright thinking I had washed the dye out of his sweater

before I recognized the smell of my blood

being washed down the drain.

I am bloodied and rinsed and wrung out.

The Loch Ness Monster is large and long-necked and

has a talent for escaping the authorities.

It is told as a fable or fire-side tale but the absence of evidence

doesn’t make the monster any less real.

They say Nessie lives at the other end of the world but

no one warns you that it might show up at your front door

wearing a red wool sweater.

Yellow isn’t as safe as white. Orange is deceiving.

Blue is for bird feathers. Purple doesn’t count. Pink is afraid to be red.

Red is love and blood and rage and doesn't wash out easily.

His red wool sweater was just so red.

ALLEY PRESS

ALLEY PRESS

Poetry Publications

The Anatomy of Red

Laundromat Lobotomy

the sun- she likes to be manipulated

I grew up running