Proposal

I am writing this letter to our union to propose a solution to paraprofessionals not feeling respected by the district in the way of adequate, respectable compensation for their education, experience, and for services they provide. I think I speak for many of us here and around the nation when I say that we don’t… Continue reading Proposal

Lying About Being Happy Is My Way of Staying in Love

It’s true that on nights like this I’m so removed I think if I’m still and silent and solemn enough it’ll be like I’m not here and that I just never was. It doesn’t take a lot to get me to this place, to coax me into having a kind of communion with solace, it… Continue reading Lying About Being Happy Is My Way of Staying in Love

It’s Poems Like This One That Stop Me From Behaving Like an Ant

Like the way I feel I’ve never dug deep enough to get to the bottom of me, I feel like I can never be loved enough to put an end to always wanting it so badly. I know this is due to the traumas inflicted upon be by my mother, and also, why I tunnel… Continue reading It’s Poems Like This One That Stop Me From Behaving Like an Ant

I Still Don’t Know What’s in My Heart

As a young child growing up in a home filled with abuse of all spots and stripes, the last thing I wanted to do was lose it like my parents did, and so, you’d usually find me down by the creek pretending to be a blue heron poised above bull and leopard frogs who tested… Continue reading I Still Don’t Know What’s in My Heart

A Part of Me Sees Your Speeding Off as Your Way of Staying Together

This morning, people drive by me on their way to work or picking up the kids or going to the beach, hurrying to catch up to the blur of traffic they’re already falling in line with and waiting for, their futures swallowing everything, even space, like a black hole child standing before the grave of… Continue reading A Part of Me Sees Your Speeding Off as Your Way of Staying Together

I’m Still Watching My Wounded Child Sleep

When last night I dreamed of discovering a T-Rex in a closet, and afraid for my life, ran into another closet and shut and locked the door from the inside, the me in that dream listened for the breathing of that ancient reptilian hunter on the other side of the door and preyed it would… Continue reading I’m Still Watching My Wounded Child Sleep

It’s Only Natural I’d Behave Like a Sea Anemone

I’ve always had a difficult time announcing something celebratory like “What a beautiful day!” even when it was beautiful and worthy of lots of attention. I think this has something to do with the fact that while I like attention myself, it doesn’t feel right to hog it all or disregard how I am as… Continue reading It’s Only Natural I’d Behave Like a Sea Anemone

It’s Not Communication but Secrecy That Some of Us Are Trying to Make a Point With

Each day after work I climb up into my attic apartment and feel safe from a world that sadly, looks to create opportunity out of either trying to kill others or incite them to kill one another. I hide from a world where the nest of a well-protected office or an underground network of privilege,… Continue reading It’s Not Communication but Secrecy That Some of Us Are Trying to Make a Point With

The Rifle-Talker

Ralph was handed the rifle that he’d just bought, and he rubbed it slowly up and down and pressed it against his cheek and held it firmly there, before realizing the gun seller’s clearing of his throat meant he wished he would clear out. Ralph had some iron in his step, the way he walked… Continue reading The Rifle-Talker

The Snort

“Certain times of the year I snort more than others,” I said to my friend Rick. I blew the left side of my nose into some tissues, and then I blew the right side, but nothing was coming out. It was infuriating. I snorted again. “Sometimes it sounds like you’re laughing at me under your… Continue reading The Snort

I’ll Lie Back in the Chair I Inherited From My Dead Father and Scratch and Feel the Call of Nothing Accomplished

The thought of being a victim catapults me back to the handful of women I’ve loved so deeply I stopped seeing that they had fallen for the intelligent and talented artist in me, and not for the man at the dark bottom of that pool who looks and smells like me, who walks the way… Continue reading I’ll Lie Back in the Chair I Inherited From My Dead Father and Scratch and Feel the Call of Nothing Accomplished

My Sick

It looks like a giant ceramic pot of Manhattan clam chowder just stirred by an award-winning chef who needs to make it in large batches. From out of the kitchen of the stomach comes giant dollops of the most heartwarming welcome your mother might ladle up for you upon your coming home from college during… Continue reading My Sick

Being Present is Starting to Feel Like an Excuse to Not Have to Face Disappointment

In the future I can see a blond-haired, nonjudgmental goddess stopping by to tease and offer me friendship and the occasional intimate invitation. I’ll spend most of my time in my head, alone and inside the house like I always have. Though I can see myself tending to an herb garden just outside my screen… Continue reading Being Present is Starting to Feel Like an Excuse to Not Have to Face Disappointment

I Had to Be Inhumane in Order to Make Sure My Father Didn’t Swallow Me

When I think of gaslighting I am reminded of the talks my father used to give to me when he was drunk in his chair in front of NASCAR, smoking menthols until he turned white while telling me with slurred words and with a drooling mouth falling slowly off his face how nobody cared about… Continue reading I Had to Be Inhumane in Order to Make Sure My Father Didn’t Swallow Me

The Carrot Problem

A young man had run away from school and was smashing windows and punching people downtown. The authorities were on the scene, standing by and thinking carefully about the situation. “What if we offer him a gift card to Starbucks?” one said. “What if we offer to buy him a car?” another said. “A trip… Continue reading The Carrot Problem

Poetry is How I Know I Have a Self

The poetry gods were with me again this year. They ship tons of poems across the sea of my unconscious and I autologue them back and forth between the waters of motivation and my conscious mind until they start to resemble common need. During my summer off I’ll spend a couple more hours in the… Continue reading Poetry is How I Know I Have a Self