Apr 11


         Glimmering in the dawn’s waking hours, dust dancers come to rest with the wind on the cardboard city, catching on the trails of pulled back packing tape below the new layer. Ridges and creases cast shadow scars across the faces of the boxes, rising and falling like heartbeats; white curtains caress the wind in gentle, cold breaths of morning. Black sharpie scrawls out your name. As I begin shifting within the large chair, my bones cringe, my skin separating from the weaving of my afghan. I pull it closer to my face, hiding away from the crinkled tower; vainly murmuring my reminder that even faded boxes will die.

Apr 10

Ya Dig?

The thing that really ticks me off is
spitting the word "broad" or
purring the word "chicks" or
wielding words like they're
stones and sticks.

It's not that it hurts, per se,
that the things you say,
though violent, like, hurt, right?

It just ticks me off that
your ignorance--
call it "broad" or "chicks" or "bimbo" or "ditz"--
makes me sound like an idiot.

Ya dig?

Apr 10

Staircase of Dreams

Apr 06

Lucky Leprechaun

I snuggle deep beneath my little moss blanket on my wooden bed deep inside of the hollow tree village. Mamma and Papa are amidst another heateed argument over the same old topic: humans. The citizens of Killarney betrayed us 50 years ago but my clan is so bitter it may as well have been 50 days ago! To be completely fair it was not the citizens of Killarney who betrayed us but their town leader, Mister Amos Flaherty who was cruel to us wee folk. Thats when everything changed for us.

Grammy sometimes tells me stories of how it used to be. She said that the folks would dance in the center of the town and we rode on their shoulders. The little children used to braid our hair. They treated us like one of their own. As she said, the people were in tears on the streets as we left. They loved us. She’d tell me stories whenever it rained, whenever I was ill or honestly whenever she could keep me in the tree for more than 10 minutes.