Tag: creative practice
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left behind: a poem
not just debris
from the storm
fallen twigs and
forgotten string
small dwelling
for growing
found the ground
from its
sky-kissed perch
oh, to scoop it up
to hold this proof
to dampen the structure
with saltwater tears
We are luckily safe after Fridays’ storms but there is damage throughout town. 
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Two collages and a haiku
opportunistic
robin plays bath splashing in
puddles of fresh rain
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Angst
I know you’re upset
But here
I carved a space
In my heart
Meet me there
We’ll have tea
Not too strong
So we can still
go to bed early
We’ll talk about the
meaning of
Our matching fingerprints
You scribble tears on your face
With blue crayon
They fall, rain from your cheeks
Splash into your cup
Allow me to drink it for you
It’s been long enough
You don’t have to do this alone
“Wolf turn” Episode five of the podcast Living Practice is live 💕 catch it here or find it on your favorite podcast platform.
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What remains
Bald eagle
circles with
two vultures
tending to death
like the
carcass of a deer
or the
decay of a nation
-
promises
you could say
hi pretty girl
and i would look for who
you’re speaking to
certainly not this rib cage
playing the song of
hollow bones
buried
too much flesh
bulging
fabric too tight
all wrong
she’ll tell herself
i’m all wrong
w a i t
for words of kindness
they do not come until
aged hands from
older me
grasp my tiny fingers
whispers triumphantly
“you are not all wrong
you are everything
you are wonderful
wonderful”
-
water me
threads of being
curl through every cell
of this body
arms chest heart
opening like a flower
crying nectar at the
sunrise
penetration of light
both
pleasure and
pain
-
will you accept this payment
tended the garden of this mind
brains weren’t extraordinary
I cling to the title:
gifted
press the label onto my shirt
hand lingers above my breast
delusion
the tag tied round my toe in the morgue
it’s all I ever was…until, you know
I wasn‘t
plummeting grades, marks don’t matter
blackout nights, herded by strangers
bra stuffed with money
and tear-stained fights
this body became
the sacrifice;
payment on the altar of
expectation
color me surprised
you roll your eyes
not impressed
tell me this
is it enough yet?
Starmoth Press 