The screen door
swings open.
She jumps–
off her guard;
on edge
all evening.
This house
has no ghosts.
Husband’s home.
She eyes him
coldly,
wondering:
how much
he’ll haunt her.
Originally published at Rust + Moth – Spring 2016
With your lips
against the flank
of my hip,
I find God
and beg for more.
My prayers grow louder—
then let loose to quiet praise
as your spirit
leaves my body.
Previously published in Pankhearst’s Slim Volume #3: This Body I Live In – November 2015. Available for purchase here.
The old dog sits close;
thunderstorms and nostalgia
have us held up
in the back of the house—
each seeking shelter
from our own fears.
Originally published at Gnarled Oak – Issue 5; November 6, 2015
in your pocket,
where your mind is.
Clutch it with free hands;
grip the emptiness
the way children do
when they’re hungry
and tell me again
how my soul is lost.
Originally published at By&By Poetry – October 2015
The cool mornings linger
in the hollows, where the land
dips and divides, waiting
for the day to arrive—
the South cannot shake
the humid breath of sunlight.
Originally published at Plum Tree Tavern – October 2015
Would it be worthwhile to
hinge on the words of
a man who waits not on
my replies, but merely for
a break in my syllables, to
break me with his stare and
turn my thoughts into
something of a simple stutter?
I think not, but he is most
recusant in allowing me the
benediction of where my
lips take the proceedings of
this hushed moment.
I have been quieted, but
stillness has yet to
find his hands.
Originally published at Snapping Twig – August 2015
The peace lily
was placed in the corner
of the room–
where no one sits.
Originally published at Belle Rêve Literary Journal – June 2015.
