Poetry

Caged

a bird made of dust and blue feathers can’t be caged in a tiny match box unless its wings and vertebrae are pinned down with a needle that loves to split flesh

Wild Oat (avena barbata)

Sliding my fingers along the stalk,                                                        Digging into the water, pushing each teardrop, feather light pod                                                        forward, a boat full with divers pinpricks my hand. Stripping oat stems bare,                                                        excited for the dive, loosening rope sleek, singing. Low gold rushed hills                                                        tied… Read More »Wild Oat (avena barbata)

The Rules

The spiral on a spiral notebook’s sharp enoughto pop a water-wing. When the nurse unwound it my whole life fell out of order. Is it such a crime to cry in a swimming pool? Do… Read More »The Rules