is this the Olympics or miss USA?

sorry about the hair
women girls, I was busy
shaping this  body
these muscles
that strength
tight and precise
as a strung bow
to send flesh
like the toned arrow
it is
into that shiny gold target

too busy
to notice the sloppy ponytail
would embarrass
my critics sisters

next time
I will spend less time training

and more time grooming
because that’s what wins
medals approval

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , , , | 15 Comments

husks (the dream doll)

if what wakes you
from dreaming
is hungry

my grandmother would say

to make a husk doll
from leaves holding close
to dry cobs
of braided colored corn

soak them to softness
and braid cornsilk hair
darkened yellow to brown

keep her faceless
not as punishment for beauty
as the no-face dolls for playing

but no nose for this dream-holder
made of husks
to scent and steal sweetness

do not give her eyes
to see where she is planted
to walk her way back

do not give her a mouth
to whisper your name
to what moves in the earth

saying your flesh
is better eating
than her leaves

bury the bad dream
and walk away lighter

those imaginings
shaking you awake
wrapped inside that husk

and no longer in your heart

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , | 10 Comments

why I don’t barter

my fathers

traded kindness
for want

fur for mirrors
land for beads
meat for smallpox
folded in blankets

what is left
for me to trade
or gamble
but spirit

the one thing I own
that is neither worn
nor broken

and mine

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , | 10 Comments

if gravity

if gravity
moves us closer
to the solid core

the desire of matter

earth holds for us
a stone hunger

lightly expressed

so as to keep
what is loved
unbroken

then, perhaps
this overwhelming pull

towards you
can be expressed

but controlled
in equally quiet strength

Posted in desire, New Free Verse | Tagged , , | 18 Comments

water cursive

my children write cursive
on stone
with stick pens
and creek water ink

I write something
less permanent
than this

the scribed love song

of a cicada
17 years underground
tasting tree roots
and silently digging

climbs from mud
and out of this faded skin
to fly one day
or two
before starvation
weakens wings

and gravity claims
that weight

again part of the soil

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , , | 22 Comments

bibliophilia

my mother
read every book
in the public library
in card catalog order
one summer
starting with fiction
authors “A”
and ending
at the reference section

addiction passes
from one generation
to the next
and her fever
flamed me
impossible to measure

and I burned through
a book a day
and still do
if it is fiction

though now
I do it scrolling titles
on an electronic screen
instead of turning
bound paper

harder to set goals
or make a statement
when what is read
no longer lines a shelf
in a long challenge
or curls under your arm
announcing mindset
without any mouth opening;
the pages sighing out
scents of ink, dust
and fingerprints

less personal

the way I read now
pages that blink
rather than turning;
fade into each other
with a finger tap

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , , | 27 Comments

insomnia

the katydids are done
trading accusations
this early morning

it is time for crickets and owls
to sing the small hours

before  first light
teases the atmosphere
from starred black
to stained-glass blue

premonition to another sunrise
I am going to miss
unless I am still awake to meet it

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , | 18 Comments