Sunday, July 31, 2011


It was easy to smirk at dirty nails
and look down my nose at dusty feet,
until the wind laid down and died.

Now, I'm just as filthy and thirsty as the rest.

We all huddle in the unnatural stillness,
day after blistering day,
staring silently at the circle
of stationary steel
as if it is a god that has been displeased.
The reverend calls for prayer,
but there are none who speak
the tongue of the wind.

Nothing moves,
but the glint of the sun on silver blades.
Nothing stirs,
but the exhalations of brutal disappointment.
Nothing much is left of us
since the wind laid down and died.

Saturday, July 30, 2011


Bed me in the summer grass.
Crush the tender green beneath.
Pray me like a pagan mass,
communion clenched between your teeth.
But, should you let my tithe plate pass
and offer naught but watered words,
I'll drown you in the summer grass
and leave your body for the birds.

A very loose take on the prompt "water" at dVerse.

Friday, July 29, 2011


Rose petals litter the bed
like little red clich├ęs,
but all I notice is the light -

peeking between the fingers that cover my sight
as you guide me forward with your hips;

shining from your eyes,
a shy pride and something sweeter;

silhouetting my hand catching yours reaching for the lamp.

"Let's leave it on."

55 words for my G-Man!

Thursday, July 28, 2011

The Pillow

The summer I went crazy,
I took my pillow.
I clutched it to me throughout the long, hot ride to the lake,
letting its soft weight anchor my remnants
and keep them from floating away.

Having been judged a danger to myself,
I was being removed from prying eyes and sharp objects.

As I pretended to sleep,
I mulled over my inescapable new truth.
No matter how carefully I reassembled myself,
no one would ever forget
that I was a puzzle with ill-fitting pieces.
From now on,
every time they looked at me,
they would see the cracks.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011


I got an egg
black as your heart
and buried it where the river flows

I put bloody fingers
to poor beggar's parchment,
and nine times I wrote down
your name.

I captured your breath
and tossed it to the wind
just at the turning of
the moon.

But, there ain't a spell
that's gonna break
the spell
that binds me to you.

For Open Link Night at dVerse.

Monday, July 25, 2011

I Do

Wash hangs crooked on the line.
Peaches rot beneath the tree.
It's been a week since I could lift a finger,
a week since you put your hands on me.
Gal from church says men get to drinkin,
and you ain't to blame for what you done.
She promised that she'd pray for me
and told me to think about my son.

I do.

I had your baby in my belly
the day that I became your wife.
We didn't take no wedding pictures
cause the night before you'd blacked my eye.
The members of the congregation
filled the pews to watch us wed,
and none objected as my busted lips
struggled through my vows and said

I do.

Late that fall I had the baby,
and my boy, well, he wasn't right.
Doc says it must run in my family,
but I know it's cause you kicked me in my side.
When he was two years old I tried to run.
You caught us out in east Monroe.
That's the night you broke my arm and said,
"You know I'll never let you go."

I do.

Sheets are missing from the line.
There's fresh dirt beneath the old peach tree.
My back aches so I can barely moved,
but you ain't put your hands on me.
Gal from church says men take off.
Sometimes they just up and run.
A woman has to do whatever needs doing.
A woman has to take care of her son.

I do.

Sunday, July 24, 2011


Some girls are stilettos.
Some girls are Birkenstocks.
Some are born for tennis shoes,
but I’m a pair o’ Docs!

A bit of re-posted goofiness for the prompt "shoes" at dVerse .

Saturday, July 23, 2011


If I let my rivers flow
without trying to direct the water
and stopped building dams of complex plans,
would I stop feeling worn away?

If I sat on the shore and did nothing more
than wait,
what would I hear from the ocean?
Where would I be
if I weren't a fool
trying to pull tides like the moon?

Thursday, July 21, 2011


I want to strip you
with lush and transcendent words
that leave you
lost in languor.

I want to pour you
a river of wine
that pools in the harbor of your hips.

I want to press my breasts
against your chest
until our hearts fall silent.

I want to
seduce you
in the sun.

55 words for my G-Man!

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Rose On The Fence

Inattention killed my roses.
I guess the same could be said of me.
Perhaps that's why I knelt in the grass
and wept
as if they meant the world to me.

Inattention let the horses run wild.
I guess the same could be said of me.
Perhaps that's why I'm sitting in this bar
looking for more
than a drink.

Fences get harder to mend.
Some roses never bloom again.
And a woman just might stay gone
if let go too long.

For the last One Shot Wednesday and the grand opening of  dVerse!