Monthly Archives: January 2014

She Is

(Written in response to “My Apologies to Tom Robbins and Louise Erdrich,” found here.)

She is not a flower.
At times, she may bear
some resemblance —
          delicate and feminine,
          beautiful but temporary —
but at her core, she knows
that Sonnet 18 was not written
with her in mind.
She might be ivy —
          adorning, clinging to
          timeless and powerful structures
          while at the same time
          threatening to destroy them
          with her persistent growth.
Or maybe
she’s no rooted thing at all.
Maybe she’s a force —
          a heat wave,
          a polar vortex,
At first,
          the heat or cold or power
          shocks and frightens
          and might feel like pain
                                        (it isn’t).
But after the initial shock,
          the heat or cold or power
          and might feel like peace
                                        (it is).
And her existence
makes you wonder
how you ever lived
without feeling
that power



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The hourglass spins
just    slowly    enough
to allow the same
grains of sand
to fall
                    to side
          to side,
                    always crossing,
          but never staying
                    long enough
          to pass the time.
M o v e m e n t
and stagnation.
Hurry up
and w a i t.
She never was
very good
at being patient.

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All at once,

she is

indulging and abstaining;

extroverted and introverted;

absorbing and emitting.

In the same space,

she has collected

the natural and the artificial;

the inviting and the distant;

the hard-copy and the digital.

And this


never felt

so relaxed.

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The Dance

He advances —
slowly, politely,
unwittingly baring his soul
across pages
of old stories.

She steps —
hopefully, hesitantly,
eagerly snooping
at private thoughts
penned long ago.

They circle —
predator and prey,
each pieces of the other,
waiting for the other
to flinch first.

She stops
and smirks.

He smiles
and lunges.

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