Since It Happened, I’ve Been Thinking a Lot… (2023)

I’ve been thinking about Sinéad Marie Bernadette O'Connor. Born on December 8th and gone the day after my birthday. 
I’ve been thinking about being a young girl, watching VH1; I’ve been visualizing, on repeat, her teardrops falling gently down her face. 

I’ve been thinking about the world as a stage. And a stage as a platform to be brave, and to be seen.
I’ve been thinking about the promise of art as a force change in the hearts and minds of those who bear witness.

I’ve been thinking about how acts of protest or resistance alienate those who dare to speak out.
I’ve been thinking about the costs of being a brave woman in this world. And how the world is not our stage, and never has been.

I’ve been thinking about the costs of calling out who and what lacks integrity, honesty, and goodness in this godforsaken hypocritical, selfish piece-of-shit place.
I’ve been thinking about the short-term memory of a society that conveniently forgets the ridicule, disrespect, judgment, shame, and violence it doles out
in response to brave women.

And a stage as a platform to be vilified, and to be silenced.
I’ve been thinking about how people have said, “Be nicer to women while they are alive.”

I’ve been thinking about the cost of advocating relentlessly for oneself because no one else will.
Of advocating for so long and so tirelessly that one day your voice gives out entirely. Just static. 

I’ve been thinking about when she was alive, and she was looking for you.
But you weren’t there. 

Babyfat (2022)

He said my thighs were 
Too fat for a two-piece
Faded stripes carving 
Into fatty fleshy folds
Sidewalk chalk washed 
Away in the rain
Big bones that 
Carry the taunts 
Of girlhood crushes
Ripping up valentines
Of greasy school pizza
Staining white jeans
Of gym class uniforms 
Put on / took off
In feverish haste
Feeling illicit 
In cherub skin
With hands and feet
Tangled up 
In picket white
2% milk to drink 
For every meal
Dad putting forty bucks 
In the bank, and Mom 
Sleeping on 
The sinking couch
Hot dogs thawing
In the microwave
Now I lay me down
To sleep
And pray the Lord
My soul to keep
If time in dreams is frozen,
Can I ever get away 
From where I’ve been?

Cold Sweat (2022)

Some guys, they come
With hammers and nails
Some guys, they knock
Down walls, come inside

Without asking

His voice was cool - like the blues
And insides of storm cellars
He picks at the scab
Then sucks on the cut

Deities, like handsome fellows,
Dissolve in clinking cubes
Takes the edge off when
He’s pulling my hair

Too hard

Soon the leaves will fall
Like feathers, and I’ll be
Out of the woods
He’ll say, “Consider yourself free,”

But I never wanted to be

Courses (2022)

STARTERS

Rubbery pacifiers, sopped in spit
Cropped short hair, to look like a boy
Giddy giggles shushed at tuck-in time
Shiny coins awarded for mute mouths
Lessons in bed-making and lawn-mowing
Hamburger Helper and Dinty Moore
Daddy with a cigarette dangling
Mommy with a gambling problem

MAINS

Sunburnt skin with chlorine glaze
Prescription lenses with plastic frames
Both ears pierced, three holes each
Home sick from school, drinking flat Coke
Empty rooms where secrets retreat
Hardwood floors, plaster white walls
Mustached men with slender builds
Break-up letters then second chances

DESSERTS

Utility bills two months’ past-due
Twelve essential vitamins and minerals
Woolly slippers and lacey gowns
Sunken curves stuck to soft bones
A mushy heart clinging to the past,
Like a faded and folded photograph —
My parents on their wedding day in '83,
With fake carnations and frosted cake