November 30, 2017

The year I am Mary

in the Christmas pageant, I blush,

      soundless next to my Joseph.

Our baby Jesus, wide unblinking eyes

edged with stiff lashes, reaches a plastic

arm to the ceiling, his mouth gaped

near my chest. My only line:

      Is there room for us at th...

July 22, 2017

We slipped loose of the silvery Sandon Valley

with the blistering clang of your '99 Pathfinder.

I was burnt out on late August

and trying to use up the sunlight

as we wound the heavy green of the truck

up the old logging road.

All around us the walls of mountains were swolle...

July 22, 2017

I prodded your pelt, 

shared the soft pain 

of an electric shock – 

the buzz of currents passing. 

I saw 

           (I saw, I think, I saw) 

you once in the forest 

with your back 

arched against 

the rough grain of bark. 

Your milk fur was sweet 


May 22, 2017

She picks her words like they’re pins from grenades. 

The blasts were last night, but the shrapnel flies 

This morning. It litters my kitchen floor, 

chews chunks from my toes as I enter to 

hear what my phone bleats for. Each lamprey tooth 

carves words from songs we share...

May 22, 2017

There’s an innocence in


Design means them to


but intent is null for


once it nails limbs to mattress.

She’s here again.

Dust of dusk in skull becomes

open maws

at midnight, singing mourning wails

until mid-morning.

No means

to survive the many-mouthed silences...

April 22, 2017

Words strewn, trail across your bedroom.

You’re embarrassed

by your unmade bed—

used to tying perfect knots

for joints, satin sentences unfold

around your tongue.

I bet we could color code your whole bookshelf.

Spines hell-bent on answers to resolve my questions:

I. At what po...

April 22, 2017

you remember when you were young, when you were eight nine ten eleven, when your mother would take you to the salon, to the little room where they would lay you down and strip you bare spread wax on your body like it was honey.

they would cover your limbs, your armpits,...

April 22, 2017

(March 25th 2004 – New York)

Volunteers ricochet into the city with bright colours in their hands, writing names at every address for the young workers who have died.

East First, Second, Third, Fourth Fifth, Sixth, Eighth Street Ninth, Eleventh, Twelfth, Thirteenth stree...

April 7, 2017

your shadow is skinnier than you  taller than you   her
heart has never been broken   she is not real   you are

smell old books   dress yourself in black   put lemon in
your water   & try not to choke
on things that are good...

April 7, 2017

and after he killed himself
you don’t shower for five days,
change your clothes, or brush your hair.
you want to sit shiva, but you’re not jewish,
don’t know what it means.
but for you, grief alone
doesn’t seem like a good enough excuse.

he mentions you in his note

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November 30, 2017

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