Category Archives: My Poetry

A sampling of my poems. Some of them are exclusive to this blog and some of them are in my collections.

Outside 3: 4 micropoems

winter yearning

spring hunting

summer burning

autumn starving

*

spring burning

summer hunting

autumn yearning

winter starving

*

summer yearning

autumn hunting

winter burning

spring starving

*

autumn burning

winter hunting

spring yearning

summer starving

*

Photo by Quinsey Sablan on Unsplash

Red Lineage

A poem inspired by Khadijah Queen’s 2014 Naropa SWP Workshop at the Jack Kerouac School Of Disembodied Poetics.

Red Lineage

My name is jess tying the hawk’s leg red.

My mother’s name is red springtime in a land she wasn’t born.

My father’s name is red markings of the bombs.

My sister’s name is lovely flower red.

My brother’s name is unstoppable fission red.

My grandmother’s name is sorrow on a soft, red wind.

Her mother’s name is went back but couldn’t find them red.

I come from a people known for broken cathedrals, long voyages across the sea, and bootlegged moonshine.

Remember me.

Decomposition

A body says, “Hello.” Another body does not reply. A body says, “Hello.” Again. Another body does not reply. A body walks into a bad joke. A body feels like a bad joke. A body tries to tell a bad joke to another body and another body walks away. A body has breakfast alone. A body skips lunch alone. A body has coffee alone. A body has dinner alone. A body says, “Loneliness is not the unyielding force but the soft buoyancy of humid air that no one else can see.” A body says, “Loneliness is not the story locked in the past but the inability to explain what happened.” Or the inability to find someone who will listen. A body says, “Loneliness is trying as hard as you can but still failing because (insert your beliefs about failing here).” A body sees. A body tastes. A body touches. A body feels the memories a body doesn’t want to feel. A body blocks them out. A body smothers them with a crashing wave. A body pounds them into the ground and refuses to let them breathe even for one second. A body can’t let them breathe for even a second. A body hears a body’s fist connect with what a body cannot kill. A body smells a body’s blood. A body wonders how a body got hurt when a body was supposed to be inflicting all the hurt, all the punishment.

*

Photo by Laura Briedis on Unsplash

Mirror Angels

My reflections and I

plot the points of our knees

like stars scratched in the floor,

we can’t hold summer

in our flimsy hands.

I lean my head against the point where two mirrors join together in a museum exhibit and suddenly I am one girl split into three. This is educational. This is sacred division. I whisper softly to us but they don’t answer my prayers for rescue, escape. I can only mimic their arms with my arms and I cannot decipher the secret within our bodies.

The rough stars

join constellations

Gaping-Mouth-of-Disbelief

with Grinning-Face-

That-is-Not-a-Face.

I look into the mirrors and there are girls who wear my face but not my memories. I look into the mirrors, I look at us and I am so happy that at least some of us are free. When I stand they turn their backs to me and greet their secret, intangible worlds. I cannot go with them when I walk away.

*

This poem was first published in Atlas Poetica in 2015 and republished in Girl + Muse.

Photo by Serrah Galos on Unsplash.