A yipping serenade of small dogs bursts/from my grandmother’s house when I open//the chain-link fence to the backyard, a version/of Eden that moved to the South and let itself//grow over.
Tag Archives: poetry
Point of Impact
Before I knew you’d died, I was driving/backwoods dirt roads, just/outside the small town we used to share
Communion
There is a picture of me at four years old helping my grandmother to plant summer/squash in her backyard garden; the two of us kneeling in freshly tilled dirt, my small/hands full of seeds that she would take one-by-one, cupping a small mound of earth/to cover each of them.
Scavenger
My dog sees it first,//her sleek silhouette/stiff & still &/bristled at the scent.
Mycelium
I am not a tree, ascendingto reach the heavens. Although I’m not quite grounded, I have been under-ground & longed for cooling waterin the dark–a thirst that made me reach toes throughmidnight soil, hopingto grasp another like me,tenderly.This vigilant earth obscures us when weinterlock ourselves & sprawl. Now & againour fruiting bodiesemerge: strange, dazzling, ever-expanding.
Ancestry
**alternative version published in issue 3 of Stone Fruit Literary Magazine** I walk a thin and unkept road of rocks,of dirt & roots, of things forgotten—lost& found. Those afternoons spent unconcernedbeneath a patchwork quilt of leaves & sky& warm late light. My chants would float like smoke:she loves me not, she loves me. Now IContinue reading “Ancestry”
honey gaze 