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about

I’m a writer, artist and designer who thinks way too much, and tries to see the beauty in the world.

Tag: #poetry

  • anxiety field notes, entry 1.

    anxiety field notes, entry 1. What you resist, persists so, if you RESIST anxiety, it will PERSIST? What you resist, you bury. What you bury gets stuck. It persists! Some things cannot be buried. (Most things, actually.) Seeds can, and should be. Seeds grow. Flowers should not be buried, if you want to watch them…

  • A letter to my chiropractor

    A letter to my chiropractor: When I saw you last December, your warm fingers on my neck felt reassuring — it’s pure trust, letting someone adjust your spine. “Relax,” you commanded, for I was tense. The muscles surrounding my precious cervical vertebrae relaxed into your palms. I told you I was tense because I was worried,…

  • impermanence

    impermanence

    I’m going to say it straight out. Somebody’s going to die tomorrow. Actually, I’m sure, lots of somebodies will die, but there’s one in particular that I’m thinking of tonight. Nothing lasts forever. Joy comes, and goes. Seasons come, and go. Grief comes and goes, too. Whole countries, entire species, blazing stars in the sky—…

  • Sharp, necessary things

    Louise Erdrich says in her poem, “Thistles”: “under loss and under hard words, under steamrollers under your heart, it doesn’t matter. They can live forever.” I think there are some feelings that are like thistles, that’s why Erdrich’s poem and the thistles along the sidewalk speak to me like an old friend as I ponder…

  • November Ginkgo

    Walking this weekend brought to mind a poem I remembered about Ginkgos. Their “yellow fluttering fans of light” never fail to inspire me. I attempt and fail to capture them in yellow/fossil/sucked-in-breath poems. They are the last of their division of tree (Ginkgophyta), all others being long extinct. Ginkgo leaves are found in fossils dating…

  • For Terence

    For Terence

    For Terence It’s like some evil game nightmare edition of Simon says Why do so many people who look like me comb over the footage, looking for a misstep? The questions begin, inevitable hateful cloaked in willful blindness the cloak victim-blaming always wears: “Yeah but–was he fully complying? Why didn’t he comply exactly?” The wrong…

  • A poem for my neighbor’s hibiscus

    A poem for my neighbor’s hibicus Furled for the night, see? They’re rolled up tight, like tissue-paper cigars in the moonlight sleeping in the morning they will spin open I’ll be walking past I’ll be sucked in, again will spin with them, six-and-a-half again ballerina fantasy fairy dresses for princesses named Hibiscus, Rosemallow, Swampmallow. The…

  • Bursting

    Bursting Clouds rip open like my heart bursts – whoosh, closed to wide open Swoosh: a purple umbrella floats past; droplets slip, wiggle mercurial jelly-dots. We swim in the same pool, this heavenly, dirty fishbowl.  

  • On the roof

    I melt with the sun butter in a warm blue pan the world spins, molten

  • Parallel worlds

    I drift to this place where water turns to vapor where the cold night melts