is this the metaphorical mountain? /
is this the part where we find out what we’re made of?
Category: poetry
A Sequence of Events
The brain is good at hiding things.
dear grandmother,
a two-sided notebook paper
rant dedicated just to me.
for jack
he loves deeply
is feral-angry
cries rivers
healing.
there is no rhythm to the remembering, / no time or space or elaborate calling
the truth of it
words are fraying tethers.
inanimate
I thought of the end and / I met it for what it was.
the other mother
Her snail’s pace is patience, thrumming
through the rooms where I try to exist.
preservation
inches from the nowhere drain
the rockhounder
hound the ones with rounded edges
Magic Mama 