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POETRY: 2018

Poems published in literary journals in 2018

Published in Funicular Magazine,

December 3, 2018

She will never tell you
but the girl who shrugs
away from your touch,
who faces you
with chin down, eyes up,
slips from sight
as all eyes are watching,
feels anything but coy.

Published in Snapdragon: A Journal

of Art and Healing, December 2018

I know I could get stuck

here, so close to the goal,

twenty-nine days into

a month devoted to

the confrontation of

versed memories.

Published in Funicular Magazine,

November 23, 2018

His grandmother snipped the wild
pink tea roses for my corsage
from the bush by the gravel
driveway, blocked from the view
of the rolling sea by the low airy
house, removed the thorns and
twined the twiggy stems together

Published in Riggwelter,

Issue 15, November 2018

I expected dust, 

powder for lifting prints

but the police didn’t bother.

Published in The Same,

Issue 4.2, October 8, 2018

And yet here our paths diverge in ways that leave me reeling,

missing you, my friend in living,

your spirit so vibrant and good and thankful that I never conceived

it would not endure, grow stronger.

Published in Cabinet of Heed,

Issue 13, October 2018

Hold my hands and
concentrate on three
questions to be
answered, faith placed
in cutting the deck
tripled, laid neatly,
the magic a blur,

Published in Halfway Down the Stairs,

September 2018

I think the word I’m looking for
is apogee, to describe the high point I was
reaching for, had been assured
was just a few bold steps away

Published in Mothers Always Write,

August 2018

The deal was that I got to keep my teeth
and the money,
securing the white treasures
in a small plastic box much
like the one my grandfather placed
a bicentennial quarter in for me

Published in Tuck Magazine,

August 13, 2018

We marvel at her grief, so

human, at the compassion of killer

whales who keep her close, safe,

share the weight of her grief

and listen to her cry.

Published in Coldnoon: International Journal of Travel Writing and Traveling Cultures,

June 30, 2018

The notes of the guitar
wafted from the courtyard
to the wide ramparts atop
the stone castle walls
where I looked
down through light-
specked leaves

Published in Tuck Magazine,

June 22, 2018

the doors crack open, see children huddled in the

cold of cages slammed shut by the violent wind

of a nation’s change that shakes the trees and blows

Published in The Cabinet of Heed,

Issue 10, June 2018

my index finger traced
the patchwork of pale
glossy skin incised into
the bulk of your calf

Published in Bloodletters,
June 2018

Cloaked in black,
long hood trailing, I fidget with
my bangs, the weight of hair heavy,
unfamiliar as my future


Published in Wordgathering: A Journal of Disability Poetry & Literature,

June 2018

I live with a belly full 
of scars pulling 
the skin like tufted 

Published in HerStry,

May 29, 2018

I learned pain at the bench of the piano.
My shoulders taut with tension, black pulses pushing up the back of my neck,
knotting around my eyes as I sat upright, practiced my scales and arpeggios
up and down the black and white keys,

Patience, Sidelined, and

A Shadow of Rachmaninoff

Published in Bloodsugarpoetry,

April 20, 2018

On the wall there is a shadow
of Rachmaninoff, and in the air an echo
of Chekhov, of Kandinsky. The markings
of those who have come and gone

Published in Tuck Magazine,

April 5, 2018

Each backpack,

made clear to replace

the danger of color, of opacity.

Published in Autumn Sky Poetry Daily,

March 30, 2018

Last night I had to outrun a Zamboni
which isn’t so very hard to do
but is treacherous nonetheless,
especially in a dream when you’re not sure
why you’re on the ice in the first place.

Published in Poets Reading the News,

March 24, 2018

800,000 children and adults marching for our lives
is overwhelming, unimaginable
but seventeen dead in 6 minutes and 20 seconds
is suffocating, incomprehensible,
a grief that challenges us to wade into it.

Published in Tuck Magazine,

March 12, 2018

I was raised to be intrigued by the graceful span

of a suspension bridge, with strong pilings

that hold so much in the balance, yet

I learned early the danger is not always where

we expect, in the middle, for those with faith

to traverse from one shore to another.

Published in Snapdragon: A Journal of Art and Healing,

Spring 2018

My neurologist likes to talk of Oliver Sacks,
of faith and stories, of writing one?s way through metastatic cancer. Pulling a copy of Sabbath posted
on the office fridge, he made a copy for me to take home.

Published in Juniper: A Poetry Journal,

Spring 2018 (Vol. 1, Issue 3)

In her overflowing and messy kitchen, Kay
and my mother gently wiped my bloody tears,
dabbed at my arms with a damp cloth,

Published in Juniper: A Poetry Journal,

Spring 2018 (Vol. 1, Issue 3)

In her overflowing and messy kitchen, Kay
and my mother gently wiped my bloody tears,
dabbed at my arms with a damp cloth,

Small Gifts

Published in HerStry,

February 27, 2018

I like to think that the doughnuts were just for my mother,
the girl who had so few treats, growing up oldest in a time of scarcity
offering her up a single ball of uncooked dough, cut from the center of a cake,
the remainder dropped into the pot of boiling lard,
one small bite to be enjoyed slowly, the sweetness
dissolving inside her mouth.

Published in Poets Reading the News,

February 17, 2018

And this time, on Valentine’s day,
I was not worried because
she was at school making crepes,
and her sister was laughing
about carnations,
and the man on the corner
was gone.

Published in Eunoia Review,

February 15, 2018

It was decades before I felt another snowfall
like that, and when it came I had children
of my own who, with drifts up to their thighs,
spent hours burrowing and digging,

Published in Rogue Agent,

February 2018

She can see
on her computer screen
my blind eye closing
behind its darkened lens.

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