(untitled)

seeking the silence that is accurate

the kool-aid stain on concrete

the syllables of clouds

the length of the cicada's shadow on

the wet step

the something

I can measure

because the tornado lived and the children didn't

dear sister,

when you told me what he did my lungs hardened this hardening was audible. I grew into the carpet a mass keening forty days and forty nights the keening mass in the carpet. forty-one and I broke
the bottle and bled out you will remember I sent you a picture of the wrist in question. and then it came to me this morning as my lashes I curled for no one I knew what to do. call me.

this poem humbly offered up for OpenLinkNight at dVerse poets.

undone

and now
with my shadow
fallen
before me
like a dress to the floor
the breast
bone all that remains
of the rib
cage I am held
together loosely
now
the taste of marrow
in my mouth

this poem humbly offered up for OpenLinkNight at dVerse poets.

memorized

a tanka series of memory, punctuated by passages grafted there

the color of earth on wet

jeans and you

kneeling

high under

the street light

     we hold these truths to be self-evident

the size of your pores

that day

in the hallway

when I ran out
of damns

     for thine is the kingdom

the audacity of sun

through cloud
light burn
ing on the in

side

     conceived in liberty

outside
the Sacre-Coeur
my voice spare
coins
on cobblestones

     I shall not want

ever

to a father, upon the death of his child

ex
haled
into this world
flesh
of your flesh
a cleansing
breath
he was
and we all
in
haled
this boy your boy
deep
and
pitch perfect
for a
time
his time
and now
and now
in the lines
of your face
beneath your white-
knuckled nails
his contrails
d i s s o l v e
and still
you hold him
deep
be
neath an un
break
able sur
face
deep
in the
way down low low lobes
of your lungs
and never
will you
ever
ex
hale

this poem humbly offered up for OpenLinkNight at dVerse poets.

one

the idiom of me
forcep-free
seminal shrapnel scars shine
in this
oppressive ordinari-
ness
detail sup-
pressed
gesture
of a woman

at a table for one

I
converse with the spoon about concavity
all that my rib
cages
     the measure
     of my marrow

I
read the cracks in my spine
the an
thology
of a misstep
the opus of an exhale
     mis
     read

I
account for multiplicity
the exponent of an intersection
the quantum implications of a
blink
     I always carry
     the one

the in
ventory
of an ache
in an arch
of an empty
tongue
not un
done
I am
the one

this poem humbly offered up for OpenLinkNight at dVerse poets.

toothbrushes and aspirin

I want
to buy toothbrushes
and aspirin
like good mothers do
I want to fold things
crease
things
I want to wear
the silver lining
like an apron
like a slip that
drops
to the floor
soundless
behind a door
with a lock
at two o'clock
on a moonless
childless
morning
in cold December
only December
will do
only the good mothers
do