New Poem

(photo at etsy)Everything these past few months are connecting in very positive ways.  This poem was an ongoing process I wrote bits and pieces of for a few months and then it came out in its entirety just before I wrote my last post:

“No Longer Seeing crazy Sorrow Through Painted Glass.”

I am not naming this poem as of yet, though I know what I am going to call it.  I have hopes of publishing it, but it’s just that so much is tying together in the world around me and in me, and I have decided to stop messing with the splendid thing called TIME.

So, well, here goes:

The space between
faith and falling—as thin
as my grandmother’s sheets

my mother told me that before you died
you used to go to the church
when it was empty at 6 a.m.
and pray for me

she whispered to blessed wombs
I mouthed the words to myself:;
“don’t die”

in the hospital I imagined you
on your knees in the pew,
fingering the sacred beads
your whisper, your serious face–
like when you had
inspected my wounds over the years,
that serious look you had
when you healed things you could heal,
your hands starting to gnarl from arthritis,
working out the sliver

her repetition of deliverance to
painted saints chipping off the walls;
as I plea further to nothing but
my own will and hospital sheets:
“don’t die”

the focus in your eyes—intent
on faith healing wounds you
can’t touch;
the focus in mine—the
machinery of my mind,
synaptic failure between
iron gears closing their teeth

her tarnished jewelry clicks against the beads that slide into the next prayer;
I stand at the double-paned window in room six,
watching the snow fall,
emptiness annihilating the teachings
“don’t die” Continue reading New Poem

Letting Go



The space between
faith and failing—as fragile
as my grandmother’s slip–
I see
those two don’t exist
as I had thought they did.

After waking–
as if from a cave and floating out
into an inlet in an ocean,
left for dead–
your eyes need months to adjust, your breathing
needs to steady, you can’t speak
or understand the horizon

and then

blinding linens, her knotted hands
on the clothespins, pulling down
the white cord beneath white clouds
by the Birch tree;

color around my thoughts
as if surviving meant
that the only truth
was there.



I just wanted to share with you all that my racy little essay is getting published by Mad Hatter’s Review! I’ll share when it’s up!

…for Erica


for Erica, March 2015

I counted Mexican Paintbrush petals
in your mother’s garden
where we dropped our bikes every
summer morning, preparing
our packs for the day’s ride
or swim, mapping the summer

I thought about what you said
the night before,–how you planned
to escape someday, how you
needed something real
and I felt naïve in my
cut-off jeans and chucks,
I felt like I’d never be that brave
because I didn’t know
what it is I could escape—
how different life was
supposed to be

you weren’t afraid of the world
I felt so swallowed up in

we rode out of town, into the country
stopping in forests
to run our hands through
the moss grass beneath the needles;
we found Continue reading …for Erica

Publication Alert

A thank you to Boston Poetry Magazine for publishing my two poems “Stitchings” and “Undercurrent” –much love!