that's mrs. mediocrity to you

there are days
months
even years

when life circles around one word
everything you do and think and feel and see
somehow finds its way back to you in
this same combination of line and shape
picking and choosing each step carefully
watching out for the trap of A
the tail of Q
the slithering snake of S

this word will always come home to you
even if you don’t want it
or like it
or imagine it tattooed on an ankle
just in the spot where a shackle would hide it

you tuck it under your tongue
where it rolls around
in a constant struggle to
announce
your infidelity
your use and abuse
of all those other words

the ones that don’t belong to you

this word refuses to be swallowed

catching in your throat and
haunting you
taunting you
with threats to expose

your silence

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A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.

i remember the day you told me
about nothing

and every hour after that was a reprieve

the blue of your eyes
never looked like the sky
or even the ocean

when asked

you called it light azure
thinking yourself witty

but i knew it as aquamarine
all cool and hard and ridiculously
slippery

the kind of surface

you can’t
stop touching

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A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.

i can tell these two crows are teenagers
by their hunger and their recklessness

i feed them anyway and they never say thank you

like all youth
their gift is their presence

they haven’t yet learned how to tell time
or rather, they don’t think about time at all
just the way you don’t think about breathing

until you can’t

i hold onto the edge of this curtain
dusty lace and faded white (or is that my hair)

and smile at nothing but birds and sunshine

because it isn’t
silence that haunts you

and to turn away is the same as standing still,
moving forward is no different than sleeping well
beneath a smoky sky filled with endless flight

stars in reverse

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A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.

.

because every girl loves a bad boy

and the river she watched from her window

never quite made it

to the sea of whiskey

and just once in her life

she wanted to float

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A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.

every day starts the same
a twenty seven step shuffle
to the stove and a kettle
that will whistle me awake
before i burn the house down
and you can count my silence
in teabags and empty spoons
adding up the dreams i try to bury
before i pull my heart
from one last cup
and drag light into corners
with this pencil

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A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.

::

Talk about where you were going the day you got lost.
Did you ever get to where you meant to go?

::

truth be told
i get a little bit lost
every day

drawing your own map
makes living with questions
the only direction

but somehow
i always find my way
back home

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this post is part of the scintilla project. see more here.

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tiny signs of life
in a landscape bent on breaking

beating

renewal growth

renewal

growth

quietly anticipating tomorrow
without calling for a promise

.

.

this beautiful mess

in this beautiful light

and that one tiny twig

holding on

.

.

see, i told you:
you can only get lost
when you’re following
someone else’s map

why don’t you ever listen

and

i heard she took everything,
even the cat

the rest gets drowned out
by a splashing bus and
the slap in the face
of exhausted exhaust

.

when the light turns red
and the crowd surges forward
my tall boots refuse to carry on
and i stand there

anchored

by two tiny pieces of
strange stranger’s conversation

smiling because
i know exactly
what she meant

and a mewling kitten
is winding
infinity

around my warm and silent
ankles

.

.

..

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Linking up today with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night

snow crunches and gives me away
as i stalk the howl of this january moon
a barefoot shivering gypsy
in a white gown meant for summer
snapping in the pearlesque breeze

the seasons have forgotten
how to be themselves

your forest is home
to a bird i cannot name

but i am not afraid
to stand here in the dark

not afraid to burrow under trees
and tunnel through silvery shadow

i already have my own scars
glinting white in the light
of fullness

when my back is turned
you trace them with your cold
clay shiver fingers
while i hold my breath
and play spectral

i know how much
you need
this map

.

..

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Linking up today with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night