Posts
-
Perfumed Lilacs and High-Fiving Trees
Today was the first time I've gone biking in the morning — the proper morning, when the sun is light on your shoulders and the neighborhood is waking up, bursting with birdsong and the not-so-harmonious orchestra of barking dogs — and it was wonde
-
-
time travelers
Write a short story or poem about a time traveler or time travelers. Where and when are they going? Where and when are they coming from? What are they going to do when they get there?
-
find myself longing for summer
Summer is not my favorite season,
summer is not really my jam,
but as June, July, and August
approach in their usual pack,
I find myself longing for the winding days,
the heat that slowly drives us all crazy,
-
A Year of Childhood
In January,
when the thrill of the holidays has not yet faded
and the snow still enchants with its glittering smile,
she flops into snowbanks and skids on her knees on the ice
of her backyard pond, -
keep writing
sometimes
when my fingers don't itch to write
and the keyboard is a faraway memory,
i curse myself
curse the world
because i feel like poetry is pointless.
why
do my hands know exactly how
Loves
-
Good news
I don't want the cold hallways,
their chill seeping underneath
my thin regulation gown and settling in my bones.
I don't want the nurses,
with their tight, sympathetic smiles
-
February 21st
I remember she smelled like cheap canned beer and Ajax dish soap;
Like that industrial elevator onto McClure 4, with the rainbow carpet walls sticking to its skeleton. -
Don't Be Afraid
Child, your future is best left unspoiled, so I may be too vague, or not vague enough. Don’t be afraid of the contents within this letter . . .
-
An Ode to Dogs
A long, slim ball of English cream
curls up against the velvety crimson stairs,
like an entity of white against maroon.
His ears perk up as I amble closer,
-
When In Bloom
The dogwood blooms later
this year and marks the tardy rebirth
of the earth, our home, beautifying
after a dreadful winter purge. -
Travel
I long to travel:
Wanderlust tugs at my soul.Maine screams my name,
The ocean calls for its siren far away.Salem calls me,
Whispering tales of young girls lost to time.