Category: for someone else
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Reading Sylvia with Rain in the Forecast on Friday Afternoon
sitting in the side yard reading Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath on a Friday afternoon light breeze sways upper limbs of trees shadows dance is it mottled sunlight or mottled shade does it matter I’d like to tell her it will be alright but she wrote in permanent ink shroud poems woven with anguished threads…
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Convulsive Electric Blues
Hauntings of a Conscientious Objector: This morning, I remembered how, when the surgery rooms were slow, I’d sometimes assist in the psych ward and you recognized me that day, when I walked in to help in the electro-shock therapy room. Confused, I blurted out, “What are you doing here?” You said your parents kidnapped you…
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domestic prozac
Traumatized She would go out alone To the laundromat And watched clothes in the dryer For hours Tumble over one another Marveling That no one got hurt 5-16-24
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Harrison Butker
or The Somnambulant Man in the middle of the night (comatose for decades) View Post he woke up struggled to feed himself left his dirty underwear on the bathroom floor everyone and everything had gone on without him his kids had grown up his wife had grown independent his mother had died while inside he…
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Phone calls with old friends
we speak of the approach of autumn the dimming light the struggle to gracefully hold on to the end of twigs before surrendering to the wind 8-25-2024
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Song for Sylvia
(poem written to the prompt: “Radio”) 1965, late at night, tune out the static on transistor radio, sneak into the kitchen, call in song requests for the young girl in the news Sylvia Likens, look her up, she has her own Wikipedia page abused, tortured and killed by several boys and her foster mom in…
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Plumage
(for Harry Rogers) Feather pinwheels to my feet. I look up and do not see a bird, not even a gospel sparrow, maybe, it appeared from thin air. Do you know how to read omens? I imagine mystical things all around us piled up like snow drifts at our feet. Not every feather is a…
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Definitions
Food is never Just about eating Neither is sex Just about pleasure… The push and pull, The friction and release. Walk away From anyone Who tries To tell you different. 4-29-22
My husband's poetry 