Monster. Animal. Inhuman. These are the things we say about those who commit heinous acts. We distance ourselves We assure ourselves … that couldn’t be us that isn’t anyone I know Until it is someone we know until it is us. And then they aren’t monsters anymore. Savage Animal Subhuman This is what the civilized…… Continue reading Inhumanly Human: 1/30 for 30/30
It’s bound to be misunderstood, and the climate and weather are less than ideal. You don’t start a commune in Oklahoma. You run west, instead, to New Mexico or maybe to Southern Colorado in the high desert where it’s freezing at night and the wind whips away your tears before they have a chance to…… Continue reading You don’t start a commune in Oklahoma
In memory of my grandmother, Irene Leister, who passed on January 3, 2018. Warm sun on neck, shoulders Toes wiggled down into cool soil Just beneath a sun-warmed layer of earth. Fingers grasp greens, near earth, and pull Orange carrots, bent, twisted in shape, Choosing the ones that seemed ready Just the way she…… Continue reading Tending the Garden
Years have passed in the seven days that elapsed since I was home. A week ago, I loaded my car and got onto the highway heading west, again. But it can’t be just a week. This place is a space between it feels like a month or maybe more just like the miles that aren’t…… Continue reading Time Travel
I feel like I owe apologies to all the friends I clung to as they tried, politely, to drift away. All the ghosters I wouldn’t let ghost. All the people I kept messaging texting Facebook-interacting. I’m sorry I didn’t take the hint, sorry I made it more than it was sorry I couldn’t just let…… Continue reading Let Go
The smack-snap-pop of my lips connecting to cement followed by copper-penny viscous fluid. and I’m whiplashed to the playground monkey bars smack-ping of teeth on metal rusty flecks tantalizing tastebuds and I’m time traveling through memory as part of me feels the fresh ooze of split lip disoriented at the bottom of the swimming pool…… Continue reading Split skin
Your father built the trailer house And took you to live in it. Your heart stayed trapped beneath the caved in roof. Peeling paint and rotten wood, splintered around window frames glass missing or fragmented, sharp edges cut misplaced fingers and pieces crunch under boots that find their way through debris and juniper thickets. The…… Continue reading Peeling Paint
