Little Women

We can be sisters and friends,

holding the door open, unconditionally,

like gentlemen. Because last night I grappled

with the coloring page, stickers scattered,

magneted to my fridge—by a girl, now pregnant,

who was once a child. Weren't we all children

once? How I envied you then—

My childlike faith that you were smarter,

stronger, better than I. How easily you swayed.

You came to my birthday party once,

gift in hand—a nail polish caddy,

polish in shades I could never wear—

while I hid my bitten-to-the-quick hands

beneath the table. Now, we could laugh,

knowing we both hid our flaws

that made us fast friends,

each of us afraid, that birthday day.

hope and keep busy

How fear gnaws at my bones

in the quiet of night,

its grip tightening as I lie awake.

But then it slips away—

as I make the bed, sweep the floors,

set the table, tend to it all.

Fear and I, how I wish

we could rest side by side,

together, in stillness.

But alas, only one of us

can rest at a time. While the other

is at work, busy the whole time.

how to wake up from a sad slumber which plagued every corner of your life

Not yet ready to slip

Through the open screen door,

Streetlight reflected

In the quiet fire of 4 a.m.,

When I first learned love

Was showing up,

Every day, at the same hour,

Small gestures between us,

Unaware of how it might end.

Now, as the dust settles,

I too can settle,

See myself clearly for the first time—

A woman willing to sacrifice

Four months

For someone so small,

In the largest world

I’ve ever known.

How did we never speak,

Yet you taught me how to live?

You were barely months old

When we met.

All I needed was to slip out
the screen door of

My human form

And help three sisters-
Three kittens I could save.

monumental

I have the right

to grieve—

with worn eyes,

dangling threads,

the loss of knowing

what is right and wrong,

what is good and evil,

if ever these were meant

to be divided into

clear categories,

as if the plant is not both

stem and leaf,

as if I am not just blood and tissue.

As if I am not just rubbing my eyes and nose,

not just lost in monuments

since nothing makes sense anymore.

Picnic

Feed me mayo-based salad

as I smack my creamy, tangy lips.

Watch my mouth close around

a fried chicken thigh,

sucking it clean till I’m

glistening and oily,

ready for a kiss.

Leave the leftover veggies

for woodland creatures,

then climb onto the back of my bike.

Feel the wind against your face,

and don’t forget to smile.

From here, we’ll go

anywhere.

Strays.

My mother said, "You can't save them all."

I, in my youthful hubris, thought,

"I can save this one."

But now, twenty years later,

I realize—

I can't save any.

of granite hand

in the shower,
wash away the weight of human failings—
the limits of us who
love like breaking rocks
on an anvil:
hard, loud,
utterly unnecessary,
yet relentless,
until destruction is complete.

no more hammer,
no more hand,
no more stone,
no more anvil,
no more handle to grasp—
nothing left to pound.

so dangerous the way we live;
no wonder we all die.