—A poem today after a long hiatus —Happy International Day of the Girl WHAT GROWING UP TASTES LIKE I sit with my windows open, drink of the air as if it were the gumdrop from childhood that never melted, that never tasted quite like the color coating implied: daffodil yellow, all-of-your-dreams-come-true- blue,…
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Hello all! It’s been a while again, I know. I’ve been missing writing in the worse way but otherwise wrapped up in my new job, writing a new bio: McKenzie lives and writes in South Bend, where she works at Indiana University, etc. It’s been a blast, but I’ve only been writing what I…
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My future & my past are essentially the same: whether it is me or her riding in the back seat, I still have to ask permission of my mother or daughter if I can go anywhere. I traded in my happiness like a receipt for defective batteries, & the world keeps turning without me….
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propped on a pillow on our oversized coffee table, all of our ice packs lost in the move, & I try to talk to you about my impending job loss, another poem rejected by a favorite magazine, & you fill the room with pleasant thoughts…
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And it is from this moment that you are going to live. Think of that. You’re standing in the middle of what used to be a cornfield, now pocketed with headstones and wire, combing out a space that says this is where we lay our dead, take whatever you want. You have changed: you…
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This is why I love reading: it opens so many doors. While reading Allan Peterson’s Precarious (published by 42 Miles Press, 2014), I began to consider less-than-common terms, synonyms that are so interesting and unique that we often do not use—for instance, why use the term “precarious” when we could just as easily say…
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