Friday, February 11, 2011

Oh, Bea.

I found a cushion to curl up on.

The loveseat winced under

my weight. I turned its red velvet

burnt orange. There was a small fire.

A quivering blue core asked me if

I could name a few moons just to

pass the time. Before I could begin,

I heard Bea Arthur whisper from the

television in the other room,

I could vomit just looking at you.

Quiet. I wait patiently for the ice

that the weatherman blushes over.


and gussied up,

I strapped a rocket

to the small of my back

and pressed my face

against the cool wallpaper

of the bedroom.

I lit the wick

and sent today hurtling,

skirts singed at the hems.

Wednesday is submerged

in the glass of water

on my nightstand.

in mid-sleep, I hide things

between mattress and


I toss these layers off.

while dreaming myself small,

the alarm nags me awake.

I find a Ball jar of balloons

next to my clock

with a note that says:


Thursday, July 8, 2010

Welcome Back

I stare into the mouth of the abandoned train tunnel

and see only feathers. The old Rite Aid is now a haunted house.

The world I gave up looks at me with three dark eyes.

One of them is glass and I can’t tell which.

The ring that could have been mine flutters down to the starry

bottom of the pool. She looks nothing like me.

Her heart is a dinner table with starched napkins.

This lion I just met at dinner opened his glittering mouth

and asked me to place my head inside.

I am not afraid.

Monday, June 14, 2010

This Harp Inside of Me

bee stings get louder,

rattle their way

into the car.

heat slows the speed

of their wings.

they hover

and wait.

this world is


what’s love?

what’s love?

what turns up

in the dark?

this harp inside of me

barely sings.

I am blessed

with an instrument

that cannot wail.

he goes to kiss me

and tastes nothing

but salt.

Godbearer: five part devotion to Mary

Solemnity of Mary

you open your mouth

and a moon bursts open.

How did the sky

know you were ready?

Tell me.

Saint Gabriel

I stand at the foot of her bed,

married to a spark.

A child is a bolt

of lightning.

I could disappear,

leave a gift

that will shatter all this

in nine short months.

I know she will

burn this bed

down to a charred frame

when she hears this news.

Her hair

fans the flames.

The Annunciation of Our Lord

I would have been happy

in a life

without miracles.

The flowers darken

to shades of blood.

He never asked

if I wanted to live

without being touched.

The sun falls

on a curve

of my breast.

I miss everything

I’ve ever missed.

Marian Apparition

I see Mary

in my cup of tea.

Golden roses

leap out of her eyes.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010


There are coal mines burning

beneath my feet. From across the field,

the mine shaft is a pool to drown in.

Love is a firecracker thrown on my lawn.

You wheeze with sinkhole lungs. You taste

like you’ve been chewing matches.

Unbutton your blouse and show me

what smolders underneath. Steam rises

from the grass. All I dream about are charred

bedframes, canaries with iron lungs. You

could engulf me. This is the moment

where it may or may not get out of control.

I am destroyed by the idea of fire

licking my bones clean like snow.

Saturday, December 5, 2009


This is God’s honest truth,

which is also a pit full of

arsenic nestled inside

my peaches, cyanide

in the white stars of

my apples, those

poisonous little pits

of cherries shining

like wet stones in

my eyes.