In the small hours of the night
she dragged a lawn chair into the open,
cast her eyes
at the sky.
In the small hours of the night
At the beginning
a great whirlwind
swept the land.
Drive through the skinny downtown,
up the hill on a twisty road.
Inhale the resin-scented air
touched with the tang of the sea.
Heady with travelers’ bravado
the couple stood in ancient Kyoto
on a street lined with old wooden buildings.
The woman held a tourist map in her hands,
the man wanted to give her the world.
The tea kettle whistles
its wake-up call,
tea fills the mug,
A woman in my county
doesn’t play on a green field
or hold court on a gymnasium floor.
At the tag end of summer when Earth shifts
under our feet and the trees start thinking
of Autumn hues and shedding leaves
we go for one last camping trip at the lake.
Through a lens, clearly,
the woman watches life pass.
Her body a box of troubles,
her mind a scrambled nest,
her eye focuses on the square
that makes uneasy sense.
Stories pricked the dark
heavy with leave-taking
driving love away
Morning fog fuzzes the edges
of fences, trees, a bull grazing.
Forms I think are ducks
float on the creek.
Tear down this house
rid the land of rotting beams
the kudzu-covered walls
pock-marked and bowing
All dressed up
for the meeting
her secret self dances
inside the gray power suit.
Tear up your lecture notes,
leave your book bag behind
and your I-pod and your cell phone.
Feel on your fleeing body
the touch of freedom.
The mothers told us,
Hide your brains. Boys don’t like
girls who are smart.
I cuddle on the couch
with my boyfriend.
In her bed over our heads
my mother watches the clock.
I write about connection between women
with no history except heat—
creeping through loins,
waking them nights, weeping into pillows.
Your hand twitches
You sink into sleep
as you do whenever you sit
Body at rest
the right hand clasps
a folded paper towel in lax fingers
(inspired by Sara Umemoto’s ‘Metacreation’) She blows fireballs from her mystic lips in a sheltered pool behind flowered walls. Water slick as oil rings radiates from her glowing skin. Lightning stabs in silent slashes between curtains of rain. The arch of window, intricate carve of wooden rail enclose her in the watery womb. She focuses [...]
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