Tag 365 Collection

When you wake there are harsh syllables to grab at you, yell, threaten!

it calmed me to have
the bridge
of my nose
stroked gently with the pad of her index finger

julienning my hands, trying to
pickle nineteen-years-old among
white malt and “what’s your major again?”

What if her tribe erupts into legions that gorge upon my meager silk and cotton garden?

suspended on a spider’s web

we were to write a code-word, something easy to remember

save yourself, move
to the margins, just
leave the screen

after swallowing exclamation points
that might have made life better.

Coughed up overnight
              And pressed pristinely back into her orbit

I don’t mind, sitting here, watching my younglings grow