Oct 11

Her

Oct 06

Runaway

My heart
had never fluttered 
this fast before.

I ran through the crowd on the platform,
sneaking through gaps in legs
or under arms.

I made it to train number three just in time.
I took the cold metal railing
in my hand
as I hoisted my body onto the small platform
between cars
and then with my worn pack in one hand, 
I pushed the steel door open with my other. 

I slid into the closest empty seat
Sep 22

News

Sep 22

Morning Poem

Fog woke me 
that morning. 

He crept in my 
open window,
stiring me from my rest. 

He did nothing more than 
than soothe me:
dreams sometimes were frightening.

I knew he must 
leave soon for sun 
was waking and she didn't like company,
but he would be back. 

As soon as the moon
was half way in the sky
he would come; 
I would leave the window open.
 
Sep 18

Today, It Snowed Milkweed

I crouched in the field
just below the grass line ; 
the scratchy strands itching my bare feet 
and then,
I saw it.

The stalk 
was just out of arms reach
and slowing to the end of its life;
brown pods sprouted off the top
creating the effect of a miniture corn stalk.

I pulled one from the dying stem 
and cradled it gently in my palm.
Then, without pause 
I dug my fingertips
into the heart ot the pod,
Sep 16

Bus Poetry


She sits 
on the gray vinyl 
seat of the bus, alone like always,
pushed up against the cool glass window
some how finding comfort
in cold.

She is bent over a lined piece of paper,
hair covering her glittering
brown eyes 
in a vail of dirty blonde 
curls.

She mumbles to herself,
barely audible 
over the hum and chatter 
of the bus,
but still I hear her.

The words fall from her lips 
Sep 14

Star Capture


When you were younger
we would lay in the grass 
and admire the stars for a while.

You would splay your fingers
until they were open wide,
like colorful fans 
displayed in the stands 
along the cobblestoned streets 
and hold them to the sky
like a net holding the constellations
in their place.

You would reach 
for the sky as if
you could pull
the shinning stars from it
and cup your hands as if 
Sep 13

Different Ways to Pray by: Naomi Shihab Nye



There was the method of kneeling, 
a fine method, if you lived in a country 
where stones were smooth. 
The women dreamed wistfully of bleached courtyards,   
hidden corners where knee fit rock. 
Their prayers were weathered rib bones, 
small calcium words uttered in sequence, 
as if this shedding of syllables could somehow   
fuse them to the sky. 

There were the men who had been shepherds so long   

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