What Growing Up Tastes Like

                  —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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Two Truths & A Lie

  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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I Treat Your Swollen Ankle

  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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I Will Vandalize His Angel Tombstone

                      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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My Attempt at a Definition Poem while Reading Allan Peterson

  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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