I’ll forgive if you’ll forgive,
and I will love if you will love,
and I’ll have grace if you’ll have grace,
and I’ll be soft if—
Tag: writing
Prof
He asked me to write him a poem.
He asked me to
reach out for rhyme and for rhythm. He asked me
to think, feel, and breathe, to be human. He said to
grab meter and put it in
structure and thrust it near
thought bubbles. He said to go
dabble with words and ideas and irony,
the girl in the dream
Pride in the girl in the dream who walked away,
screamed, It’s not worth it.
She screamed,
It’s never worth it.
I don’t know how she’d get away, if
she were trapped on every side,
Lowly
If it is my lot in life to be a worm of the earth,
then when they chip away
each piece of me,
Honest Cover Letter (American Sonnet)
Well, I am good for many things. At times,
when I’m bumped into I relax up to
the edges of my bubble, so the next
time that soul needs some human touch to ground
Shrapnel
When you say you did a thing,
and you’re scared you did the wrong thing,
or did the right one wrong,
Measuring Cup
Left, right, fingers and toes,
climbing up through kitchen drawer
handles— just the daily grind
when you’re only four—
helping bake by eating the quarter
cup of flour given to you, helping
yourself to the dish of butter,
sticky-fingered, when they turn their
Redpoint
He asked me where I was planning to go
to accomplish the climbing route.
He beamed, called me sweetly simple.
I’d snapped at him, “Up.”
hyacinth
hips, heel, shoulder blades, and crown
for the tree bark
Safe
I regress through feelings of my girlhood, like a
woman healing. My shame hadn’t felt dirty
in so long, but my new dance moves mimic
clawing at my face, and I’m finally saving for the
teddy bear the house fire took away. Old raging
Alphabet Ravine 