Category: Poetry

  • Where Words are Born

    Where Words are Born

    I want dark frayed linen and mismatched china on the windowsill. Woolen socks drying on the line in early morning, meandering fog and dried nailed lavender above the sink. I want stone hues, silk scarves that always seem to stay put, and the slow drip of a copper faucet. People walking bikes along the path…

  • People My Age Aren’t Having Children.

    People My Age Aren’t Having Children.

    I’ve heard peers say that children mean the end of a life. I close my eyes, hoping she will mirror me. I think of all the things I would have been doing two years ago, before she came. In the sea of white noise, there is a gentle brushing on my hand as the tiny…

  • The Moon and Me

    The Moon and Me

    She slaps a hard blade of ice white light across my eyes, peeking in from the highest corners of my bedroom windows.  “Let me be,” I tell her. “Don’t you know I am old? Of the earliness of babes? How a husband’s lunch won’t pack itself?” “You used to sit with me,” she says. “You used to sit with me and…