Body Talk
Sometimes in airports I leave my body behind—
my old body, I mean. I step into the younger version,
the one where I flirt with just about anybody,
who cares, because nobody knows me—
Prompt Poem of the Month
About Those Apples
One crisp Labor Day
when bands were playing in the distance
and the apples were red on our trees
and my husband had put his hands
The End of Hurt Is Not Healing
Whose bright idea was it to start tearing
out pages of poetry and wadding them up
to plug our wounds? The poems I like don’t
even come when you call them.
The Accordion
The highlight of every Christmas was you climbing
the attic staircase, like a memory to your childhood,
carrying down the brown leather case that held
the pearl-keyed Titano accordion.
White Rabbit
Late, I rush down the stairs. Distraction, tiredness, hunger, an error in muscle-memory, whatever the cause, I miscalculate the steps. My foot dangles, leather-clad toes seeking, yearning for something not there.
Six Senryu from the Kitchen
in the kitchen
I don’t know how to act
meeting my flame