Things He Missed in Eight Years

IMG_20141106_084227Losing my virginity.

Falling in love with his best friend’s son.
Graduating high school.
Getting a big girl job.
His son’s graduation.
Going to college.
Anorexia again.

Getting my heart broken,
though not for the first time.
Going to college
(for real this time).
College, college, acting, writing,
Coming out as bi.
My second girlfriend.
First publication. Second.
Literary award (shared).

His son’s ambitions,
to PhD and beyond.
His love, his happiness,
his cats.
His engagement.

Moving to New York.
Looking for work.
Writing. Writing.
Falling in love.
More cats.

His wife’s decision to move.

His retirement.


Found Poetry – Big Boggle

July 12, 2013 Big BoggleMy mother and I often play Big Boggle (5X5 tiles, not 4X4), which, for those who don’t know, is a word game in which you have a limited amount of time and you have to write down as many words as possible. Since we got to be too good at it, we decided a couple years ago to limit ourselves to four-letter words, eliminating the endless and obligatory three-letter words that show up way too often and make the game repetitive (tea, eat, ate, rat, art, tar, pat, tap, apt, etc.)

Tonight, for whatever reason, this list I made seemed to work very well as a slightly sinister, possibly political (class and gender commentary?) poem. It wasn’t on purpose, but as I was reading the words out, it just seemed to work out that way. So, as you see above: my first ever piece of found poetry. Read it however you want – with the crossed out words or without, across or top to bottom, it works out somehow. I’m quite proud of the bizarre and happy accident (less happy about sharing my atrocious handwriting, but, there you go.)

My first bit of spoken word poetry

I can’t afford WordPress’s space upgrade at the moment, so I’m going to post a link to where you ca hear me reading it if you’d like to. I apologize – I usually don’t link out from here to other blogs. I will note, however, that the Tumblr I’m linking to is my own, and that if you have a Tumblr, I do spend a lot of time procrastinating there because it is a very quick and easy way to time-waste without needing to think very hard for too long.


Click here to listen to my first attempt – one I enjoyed writing, more than I knew I would – at the spoken word poetry form.

Rock Star

Rock Star, Rock Star,
Take me in your box-car,
Drive me under night skies,
Fill my ears with sweet lies.
Rock Star, Rock Star,
Show me where your locks are,
Teach me how to pick them,
Tell me I’m your best femme.
Rock Star, Rock Star,
Take me to the milk bar,
Ply me with a stiff drink,
Show me how to not think.
Rock Star, Rock Star,
Twinkle bright and afar,
Stay a wishful nightmare;
We would make a bad pair.

Counting on My Fingers

I count. One is the first.
There isn’t much else to recommend it.
I count. Two is the best.
But it’s gone and can’t return.
I count. Three is pure fun.
I think of snow and fur.
Four and Five.
I count. Four and Five both start with F.
They will always be together.
I count. Six is hard.
It has some of two and some of three in it. Isn’t that beautiful?
I count. Lucky number?
Not really.


Conserve your energy.
You never know when you may need it.
Keep the waters above the red line.
You don’t want to dry yourself out.
Remember to switch the lights off.
You shouldn’t be wasteful.
Your resources are limited, you know.
Do you feel trapped?
Do you feel strained?
That’s okay. Life feels like that,
Remember, even that which you hate
Must be cultivated and taken care of.
You never know when you’ll need it.

Locally Grown

The thunderstorm storms,
And the rocking-chair rocks.
And the town across the water is impoverished
Except there is no water,
There are only train tracks
Which were built on purpose –
Deliberately –
So that now there is a right side
And a wrong side.

All the after-school programs
In the world
Won’t help me recognize those children as my own.

Giddy and Gone

I feel like forgetting

(In my fraught fear of freedom,)

That I cannot convey

My quite careless creation.

The words wear away

While I whisper “Why?”

And I decide to deduce

That the devil has danced

Along paths full of posies

And performed with precision.

I’m still so surprised

As I see the solution:

Guarding the gates

Gets me giddy and gone.