a two-sided notebook paper rant dedicated just to me.
Tag: poetry
for jack
he loves deeply is feral-angry cries rivers
healing.
there is no rhythm to the remembering, / no time or space or elaborate calling
the truth of it
words are fraying tethers.
inanimate
I thought of the end and / I met it for what it was.
the other mother
Her snail’s pace is patience, thrumming through the rooms where I try to exist.
preservation
inches from the nowhere drain
the rockhounder
hound the ones with rounded edges
postpartum
it took a year for it / to die, shelled and / alone in a far corner of / the unkempt living room.
kensington solstice
in thick, tar-fused junes / we purpled shins on bike pedals
Magic Mama 