I am you in your worry held breath waiting to be noticed acknowledged cared for loved understood I am you in the turning of a page learning connections storytelling in lines and wrinkles dug deep on your skin I am you in the last light of day sunset gold falling across your face with a rumour of a smile I am you in…
please you sat across from me after explaining all you can do have done wanted to do how you wanted to give back help others now that you were working and had a home of your own help those who are in the same place you were grateful after so many years for help for understanding please accept me you said the words more…
the first row is the hardest set up the pattern count from the edge to see if the numbers work sitting in my head a piece waits for translation from air into wool needle exchange sometimes the twist works sometimes it does not row after row silent meditation conversation between fingers the eyes wander mostly to the screen, the room to what the…
I just wanted to try and it felt like breathing for the first time after plunging into the sea getting lost in the waves the undertow turning me over lungs bursting until finally I find my feet again in the ever-moving sand. I just wanted to try before the sun set before the snow fell before the ice formed before the last leaf curled…
you carry it so carefully an empty bowl across the room as though to try not to spill what is inside keep imaginary soup from spilling over the gold trimmed rim until you can sit at the table dip your spoon and drink the air when the last is drained sit back against the chair arms crossed and breathe a sigh of relief…
II secret machines chew glass in corners you spit daggers with your eyes in the sunshine what happened in the shadows that tears dig trenches in your skin? where do I begin? secret machines dig through the boxes covered in dust begging you to look while they polish the mirror with a sleeve held up to the light what falls through? wind passing…
I have tried, I am sure of it, to join in the madness of writing a poem a day for thirty days before. I have done the November counterpart for novel writing for 9 years. The poetry month challenge popped up on one of my newsfeeds somewhere, and now I am caught in the thin, silky tendrils of possibility. Granted, it doesn’t start until…
I secret machines fill the space cracks leave torn concrete broken ground forgotten gears turn energy flows words tumble down cannot breathe through the night heavy with fear and loathing cannot see through the darkness empty rooms and hallways cannot be more than who I am to please you secret machines listen to the turning grinding the song into dust. ~ la fraser March…
the promise fell into my arms unbidden unspoiled like raindrops in early spring touching skin with cold, fresh lips I was safe here within these walls afraid to move beyond the lines curves dug deep in the wooden floors I could not say where my feet bare and bleeding walked for years skin cut and callous trailed behind the promise stuck like a tick…
The winter limps along and my head is already in spring. It is only the beginning of February I know, but Spring feels closer. I like that. January was a blur. So much volatile energy and events going on in the world, I did not make much time to post or write. I made no resolutions at the beginning of the year, not formal…
