Where I come from the earth was turned and tilled
by my grandfather for years while he grew

apple trees, blueberry bushes, big fat purple grapes
on vines over an arbor, but there were ugly things too –

the bees that attacked when I went for an apple, and
those fat green tomato slugs he’d burn off with a blow torch.

Even then, I thought that was crazy, and I was right. Some
things were not normal, like living with them, and mom, and nana,

four generations under one roof, which gram treated like
a miracle from her Catholic god … Read the rest

You sing a new song every morning.
In your thin teeshirts and loose shorts,
you’re a sleepy singer, but your eyes are bright.
Remember all those Saturdays and Sundays we
woke up and rolled into each other’s arms?
That was always my favorite place to be.
Wrapped up in you and blankets and love,
sun shining through the window, welcoming us to the day.
You sing a new song every morning.

From Audrey Gidman’s monthly poetry prompts: Write a soloem. The poet avery r. young created a form called the soloem (so-lo-em), a Chicago soul poem. It’s a 9-line … Read the rest

I’m going to take my name
off the list of the ones waiting
for their person.

I’ve found mine.

The hunt has come to an end,
because this one makes me feel
like a baby bird under a wing, 
like the air we need to breathe.

No wonder he leaves me
breathless and tongue-tied.

When he holds me,
all I want in the world is him.

Today’s poetry prompt words were: list, the hunt, and tongue-tied.

_{Photo by Igor Rodrigues on Unsplash}

This isn’t a time out,
this is an end,
and I know now
it’s coming, soon. 

We don’t need a
critical analysis or
more digging down
into our psyches to know
that we’ve gone
as far as we can go.

It’s not as easy as
sweeping the past
under a rug and hoping
to forget the mess. 

What’s left here will linger.
What’s left here will poke
at my tortured heart
long, long after you’re gone.

Today’s poetry prompt words were: time out, critical analysis, and sweeping.

_{Photo by Joseph Sharp on Unsplash}

I really thought we would last this time, last like the smooth rocks in rivers we’ve camped by, last like they have for ages, just letting the water pass around them. We’re more like cats in traffic, terrified and dodging anything that moves, because any movement is a terror. Any pulling or putting away. This is a terror, every moment. I know nothing is as scary as waiting for you to leave. I don’t want you to go, but you won’t choose me, so you can’t stay. You’ll go like you came, and maybe we’ll end like we began, first … Read the rest