originally published in Feminine Collective What if my dystopia is your heaven, my utopia your hell? We’re not on the same page, darling May I still call you that? You said it could never happen here Isn’t that what the Germans said of Hitler? Where did they think his anti-semantic rants...
This essay originally appeared in my (small press) writing day I come into my office each morning with one goal—to calm the chaos in my head. I don’t sleep well these days, probably my body telling me I need fewer hours in the sack—and what I’m...
originally published in Medium|culture I used to watch Perry Mason on television a lot when I was a kid. I loved the edgy black-and-white film; the unlikely plots; the relentless drive for truth. Not to mention the cars. What ten year-old girl immersed in rerun after...
originally published in Feminine Collective Agony—a gone knee Can’t bend—no way to mend This isn’t about aging—maybe about raging What stops the crazy rhyme-time? Unplug the clock Blind its ruby face Tear your eyes out if you must Choke on dust There I go again, too easy This lilting rhythm and sound Trapped by the jazzy...
originally published in The Buzz, Unsolicited Press's blog If you could cook dinner for any author, dead or alive, who would it be? What would you make? I think I would roast a leg of lamb for Virginia Woolf, though I wouldn’t do it as well as...
This essay also appeared in The Startup on Medium In the fall of 1985 I sat down at an ancient typewriter and called myself a writer. I wrote short stories, one after another, and nine years later published my first one. Eventually I collected the best...
originally published in Q/A Poetry when a cliché, she’s wily, cunning, crazy as a fox in her foxy coat made slyly of her own fur when not, she escapes the brush, crosses the road, cut by hunger’s knife to seek the fleeing prey when a cliché, the a gentleman farmer slows his late-model rig to spare her thieving life, impatient then for...
coming October 1st from Unsolicited Press chapter one The floor creaked whenever Maggie shifted her weight. The Jimmy Choo stiletto pumps were killing her. Their cherry red leather called her name in the SoHo shoe boutique only an hour before, just after Kyle’s text message urged her...
She’s a woman who discards anything which causes sorrow or blocks her path. A man she cares for does both, and she leaves him. She takes only what she really values, an old set of books, a few china plates of her mother’s, an abstract...
originally published in 34THParallel Magazine All my life I knew one day I’d sail off the edge of the world Into the mouth of a smiling dragon That’s me on that painted Medieval ship Canvas billowing Men pulling the ropes in terror STOP! But the world is flat & the wind has...