I wrote novels, then poetry, late in my career. Up to then, my focus was on short stories. I produced one after another for about nine years until finally, one found a home. It took another seven or eight years before I was regularly publishing...
POETRY & IMAGE Poetry is a visual expression, even when it’s about politics, or feminism, or how nasty people can be. In poems, words evoke both what we feel and see. This is important to me, I’d say even crucial. Since leaving the urban mess of...
originally published in Product Magazine THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY Meeting Moira for coffee is like getting my teeth cleaned. I know it’s going to hurt, I think of reasons not to go, then go anyway. For the dentist, there’s an appointment, and it looms on my...
originally published in Product Magazine CALEB’S GIRL Caleb says she’s so amazing, more like a goddess than a girl. He hasn’t been seeing her long and none of us have met her yet, so we accuse him of making her up. He says she’s as real as anyone,...
originally published in Full House Literary Magazine blue obsidian things of beauty please the eye paperweights & polished blocks of lapis & malachite a small crystal vase with silk roses—pink my favorite, though i don’t care for fake flowers this place isn’t for me he puts a silver giraffe in my hand because...
originally published in New Pop Lit The summer people choked the road, filled up the taverns, trashed the beachfront, and parked everywhere and anywhere, even in places they shouldn’t. Moss’s father was on the city council and had tried, unsuccessfully, to find funding to build a...
originally published in Libretto Magazine in shadow the glow is soft in sunlight it’s hard candy a room in a house through trees with a purple-pink light you can’t read by it draw by it knit a sweater or darn a sock you can lie, though, surrounded by how it makes you feel which is ....
I wanted brothers. Two, maybe three, but one alone would have kept me safe from my sister’s abuse, her never-ending rage at my being born. This necessary brother would be in the middle, between us age-wise, a willing defender. He’d always take my side. This brother would...
if the sky won't have me originally published in FEED issue 2.2 the rain makes a river of the road rushing rivulets, eddies all aswirl it goes where gravity takes it & gathers in a low point, getting deeper & wider as the storm fails to relent i step into the river, reluctantly...
MY FATHER WANTED SONS My feminism began with my father, who wanted sons. Had I been one he’d have named me Paul after my mother’s father, or Bruce, after no one he knew. He must have liked the sound alone, the angry strength of it, harking...