(Dear Co-worker)

Dear Co-Worker:
If you're picking your nose behind your clear glass office door,
I can still see you.

(Dear Co-worker)

Dear Co-worker:
"Soft" whistling still counts as whistling
in our privacy-free office.

(The loudest ones)

The loudest ones
in the office are often
the loneliest ones.

They Say That a Little Mystery Is Sexy

We know exactly
what you think and feel
about
every
little
thing
because you tell us --
unsolicited --
every
single
day,
all
day
long.

That is the one reason
I believe "sex"
belongs in the office.

(A splash of water)

A splash of water
does not a clean hand make, dear
lady of the john.

My Ears Are Bleeding

People who live alone --
or lack a healthy, romantic relationship --
often evolve into
filter-free social terrorists.
They have no one with whom
to share their innermost --
or most trivial -- musings,
so they hold folks hostage
by bombarding and blathering on,
sharing observations and opinions
not meant for public consumption.
They drop verbal bombshells,
sending aural shrapnel
into the ears of their victims
and operate as if they have no reason
to reserve these comments and concerns
or to relegate them to someone
who cares.

Polished and Professional

He
wakes up, showers, shaves, dresses, combs his hair, goes to work,
and is considered a polished, professional man.

If I
wake up, shower, shave, dress, comb my hair, and go to work,
I am considered an unpolished, unprofessional woman.

Operation Umbrella

I woke up this morning
to discover that
I had been living my life
under an umbrella
I was handed
years ago by
clergy, patriarchy and society –
an umbrella that
limited my view of the world,
shielding me
from the sky and the sun,
sheltering me from
fresh air, free thinking,
free movement,
and my assimilation
with others
(and, ultimately, myself) –
an umbrella that
I had been holding
above my head
with my right hand
for thirty-some years –
an umbrella
I held because
someone handed it
to me
under the guise of
"instruction" and
"protection" and
"tradition."
That's what
you do when
someone hands you
something, right?
You hold it?

It wasn't until I
noticed the feet
of someone else
moving in a different direction –
a different pattern
than me –
that I dared
to peak outside
of the confines
of my covering to see
how that person
was able to move
so freely,
so functionally.
The umbrella
got in the way of
my view of that person
and it was then
that I noticed
the pole in my face –
the handle
that had become
such a part of me
that I did not see
it
apart
from myself.

It wasn't until I
became aware
of the umbrella
that I realized
that I was actually
holding something;
that my view had been
almost entirely obstructed;
that I had the use of
only one arm
and one hand;
that there's a reason
I had felt so
tired and frustrated
and limited
along the way;
that I finally lowered
my arm, released
the umbrella,
and threw my head back
to an open sky
and the smell
of possibility.

Miss Misogyny

What if we gave
patriarchy a breather
and placed women
at the helm
of the world --
mostly large, loud,
"girls' club" cronies
with inside connections
who view men
largely as pieces of meat --
regardless of their
intelligence, experience
or finely tuned talent --
women
who snicker to each other
when a man enters the room
and verbally rate his hair,
face, pecks, crotch,
rear-end, weight and
sense of fashion
as soon as he
leaves the room;
women
who value the
opinion of other women
over any man
nine times out of 10;
women
who, as a matter of course,
assume that women
deserve to be consulted
and considered before
any man's opinion is ever suffered;
women
who appreciate a
good-looking, fit, fashionable
man as a means to an end --
flirty ego booster,
Playgirl playmate,
sperm donor, or,
maybe, if he's lucky
and hot enough,
a trophy husband --
women
but who deem all
men who don't pass
"the pretty test"
as nothing more than potential
back-room assistants,
ghost writers
and support staff;
women
who openly mock and belittle
any man who gets
"emotional" after
being treated as less
than a woman or simply
a sex toy or merely
an annoyance
to be endured;
rude, harsh women
who -- no matter
what they look like --
are only interested in men
who look like
fashion plates,
models and personal trainers;
women who base
their opinions of
a man solely on numbers --
bust, waist and inseam --
women who dismiss
any man who challenges
them with a genuine
concern or thoughtful
comment or genius idea?

Oh, but wait!
That would be
disgraceful,
disrespectful,
discriminatory
behavior,
wouldn't it?

(He is offended)

He is offended
when misogyny is found
to be offensive.

(Christmas cat)

Christmas cat –
bedside greeting
begins with a pounce

Office Motor Mouths

I have a co-worker who literally
eats in her cubicle all day long --
course after course,
odor after odor,
lip smack after lip smack.

I have another co-worker who literally
talks to everyone in sight all day long,
cornering and capturing his victims
in verbal spider webs
without restraint; without mercy.

Oh, that the eater
would share her food
with the talker.

Eating on the Job

I am well aware that we fuel our bodies with food.
We all do it.
But there's something annoying about the people
who eat all day long on the job.
I know you've got to eat,
but I don't want to hear every
crinkle of every potato chip bag,
every crunch of every blasted chip,
every burp of every Tupperware container,
every scrape of every spoon in your bloody Rubbermaid.

I don't want to hear every slurp
of every sip of your coffee, then tea, then coffee, then tea.
I don't want to smell every whiff
of your canned peas marinating in the microwave.

I don't mind witnessing the afternoon snack
or occasional meal at your desk.
I'm simply sick of being subject to your
eight-course meals all the live long work day.

Thanksgiving Traffic

Three miles in an
hour and a half --
bumper-to-bumper
interstate congestion and
stomach indigestion,
angry drivers with
hungry kids, no
exit in sight, and
no explanation.
Arrivals delayed;
hugs and hand-
shakes on hold;
dinners postponed.
It was easy to get
irritated and impatient,
until we saw
the white sheet
on the ground.
Suddenly, we were
thankful for the
fume-filled air that
we were breathing.

(the leaves mimicking)

the leaves mimicking
the sound of raindrops in the
wooded autumn hills

(The attention whore)

The attention whore
demands your intentness but
does not give you his.

(Even beautiful)

Even beautiful
people look ugly when they
are seized with a sneeze.

(In my mind, you will)

In my mind, you will
always be 45, strong,
capable and kind.

(clear blue sky)

clear blue sky
sun on my back
fresh breeze on my face

Ladies’ Man

A man who champions women
is more "man"
than any macho man
or boardroom bully.

Such a man is
strong and confident
in his manhood,
not fearful and insecure
about his place in the world.

With gratitude to Robert McCurley for the perfect title

(Bumped from the bustling break room)

Bumped from the bustling break room / and relegated to the restroom, I wash my coffee mug in the bathroom sink / as my co-worker soils her toilet bowl.

My One Wild and Precious Life on Art Friday

I just learned that my poem "My One Wild and Precious Life" was recently published on New Direction's Art Friday blog.  Check it out here!

(The scent of your perfume)

The scent of your perfume
lingered on my shirt
long after we said goodbye.

Happy Independence Day!

the cardinal
sounding off
like the Fourth of July

with gratitude to Rebecca J. Davenport for a spectacular ending

(It sounds like his throat)

It sounds like his throat
is filled with gravy.
Instinctively, I coughed in sympathy.

(He filled the foyer)

He filled the foyer
with a fart and turned his back
to me and his funk.

(It took me 12 years)

It took me 12 years
to realize that he has
a stutter.  Stunner!

(It sounds like he has)

It sounds like he has
gravy in his throat, like a goat
swimming in a moat.

Happy first day of summer!

Seasonal Criminals

There's something about
summertime sandals --

they're too much

to handle

when it comes to

the stench that

sweaty feet and

leather create.

My nostrils don't

celebrate or salivate about

the smell that emanates

from the partnership

that perpetrates

heinous crimes
against olfactory.

Happy Father's Day!

Presents from Dad

He was so excited to bring "surprises"
home to us, whether it was a $5 movie
from McDonald's, Sam's Club chocolate
chip cookies, or a two liter of Dr. Pepper.
My sisters and I would laugh at him
and try to downplay his "treats," but it
was his simple, silly, contagious joy
that made the best gift of all.

In Light of the Orlando Massacre

Note: "Muslim" or any other religious term may be substituted for "Christian" and "Christ-like" hereunder; the same sentiments would apply.

A Letter to the Predator

Dear straight Christian friend,

When you post a picture of
a burning gay pride flag online,
I am not merely encountering
an expression of an opinion.
I don't simply see a person
making a statement
about an issue.
I don't view it as
an individual "deeply devoted
to a faith based on mercy and grace"
taking a stand amidst a culture war.

I see my friend
advocating -- and perpetrating --
violence against me.
I feel threatened
and frightened
and sickened.
I see -- with my own eyes --
my friend proclaiming
to me and the world
that I am worthy of abuse.
I witness my friend
declaring me fit for
gasoline
and matches
and burning flesh
and torture
and death.

I see that my friend --
my "loving, compassionate, Christ-like" friend --
is not, in fact, my friend at all.

-- Your gay neighbor

(minutes from the beach)

minutes from the beach
home of my alma mater
my coming of age

(A grown woman missed)

A grown woman missed
the toilet at work, pissed on
the floor and left it.

Happy Mother's Day!

Woman of the Word

for Julie Jarrett Hall

I remember walking through the backyard
behind our little brick house, singing the lines
to your songs during my afternoon playtime.
I felt important, knowing all the words and
the melodies. Proud of myself, I sang the
verses and choruses out loud, feeling some
sense of connection with your songs and
with you. On those hot summer days, I was
proud of myself, proud of you and proud
to be your daughter.

(Two bonny bluebirds)

Two bonny bluebirds
ushered me across the bridge,
one bird on each side.

A Closing Comment as National Poetry Month Comes to Conclusion:

Poetry is music set to words.

Huzzah for words and music!

(That life-long smoker)

That life-long smoker
and his cigarette look like
twins -- thin and ashen.

Happy Record Store Day!

The Dancing Queen

She taught us what it meant to
be married to melody -- singing
and dancing across the linoleum
floor, sometimes lip-syncing and
sometimes belting out the lines
with gusto. My sisters and I sang
into hairbrushes with a sparkle in
our eyes, while the vinyl spun
'round and Mom reigned as queen
of the dining room dance floor.

Hacker

He clears his throat
out of habit
and sheer desperation.

Announcing his arrival,
he uses his hacking cough,
however subconsciously,
to solicit attention,
leaving no doubt
that he is in the vicinity.

The aural assault
begs a comment, question,
some sort of human interaction.
"Bless you."
"Are you okay?"
"Yikes!  You scared me."

The shocking, deafening blast
serves as his calling card,
ensuring that, however lonely,
he will not be forgotten,
at least not yet.

Sticky Fingers: Like a Kid in a Candy Store

Dear Co-worker:

My candy dish is a gesture of goodwill -- meant to be
visited a couple of times during the workday in moderation --
not a vehicle by which to fill your child's entire Easter basket.

Signed,
Your Supposed Sugar Mommy

Reverse Vampires

Some people who live alone
act like reverse vampires.
They suck the bloody life
out of their co-workers by day --
demanding and commanding the attention of their colleagues,
holding court by holding folks hostage,
unloading their every thought and question and concern on people
like a dump truck possessed of the devil --
and retreat to their solitary homes alone at night,
lying in wait for the sun to come up again
and provide them with fresh blood
to live another day.

(Two squirrels and two robins)

Two squirrels and two robins
scampered away through the trees
like Noah's ark escapees.

Happy "Green" Day!

I Am Abuzz

I feel as if
the windows to the world
have been thrown open, like
french doors flung wide
to reveal before me
oceans once unseen
countless hills of green
and a slate scrubbed clean.

(Without my glasses)

Without my glasses,
the neighbor's dog looks like a
turkey vulture on a leash.

(Live well and love well.)

A rerun on Valentine's Day, after learning that a friend was in a serious accident and is now in a coma:

Live well and love well.
For today is all we have,
so far as we can tell.

Snow Garden

Our yard was a garden
of snow and our father
was the gardener. He
made snow forts and
an obstacle course of
sorts for my sisters and
me in the front yard one
winter. It was an exciting
adventure, and a little
bit scary, but I felt safe
knowing that Dad was
guiding the sled and
guarding the fort. I still
remember his laugh
that day as we squealed
with delight, holding tight
to the orange, plastic sled.

One Fine Day

Note: I wrote this on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day in 2013 -- a triply historic holiday.

On MLK Day,
inauguration day,
on the day
that a gay
Cuban-American poet
read a poem
to America,
I am moved
to tears
in the sunlight
of my study,
thankful
for the sunshine,
my books, and
the partner
our dog, cat and I
await, who will
join us after work
on this fine day.

(The courtesy flush)

The courtesy flush
acts as an air savior with
bidet behavior.

(Christmas cat)

Christmas cat –
bedside greeting
begins with a pounce

I Love Snow

for Julie

I remember
the Christmas
that you and I
mended our friendship.
You wore a
cool, retro
fur coat
and we walked to
the park across
the street from
Debbie's house.
That night we
laughed and sang
about snow
with the Christmas
lights shining
behind us
and the future bright;
ahead of us.

(sampling of the city)

sampling of the city:
snaking post office line
10 days before Christmas

(bright Thanksgiving day)

bright Thanksgiving day
drinking eggnog on the porch
sunshine and crisp leaves

Thanksgiving Traffic

Three miles in an
hour and a half --
bumper-to-bumper
interstate congestion and
stomach indigestion,
angry drivers with
hungry kids, no
exit in sight, and
no explanation.
Arrivals delayed;
hugs and hand-
shakes on hold;
dinners postponed.
It was easy to get
irritated and impatient,
until we saw
the white sheet
on the ground.
Suddenly, we were
thankful for the
fume-filled air that
we were breathing.

(cat dusty)

cat dusty
from her romp
in the windowsill

(cat in a frenzy:)

cat in a frenzy:
from the window --
watching falling leaves

(eyes widen:)

eyes widen:
brilliant, cranberry-
orange-colored foliage

(honey-colored leaves)

honey-colored leaves
lining the road
creating a street of gold

(Wet dogs smell like wet)

Wet dogs smell like wet
leaves even if the dogs have
not played in wet leaves.

(the leaves mimicking)

the leaves mimicking
the sound of raindrops in the
wooded autumn hills

(The duck swimming in)

The duck swimming in
the empty pool doesn't know
the pool's not for him.

(The tree bark gleamed)

The tree bark gleamed
with fresh raindrops as
the squirrel scurried home.

Happy National Coffee Day!

A haiku for the occasion:

the smell of a coffeehouse:
one of the things I fell
in love with in college

(First day of autumn)

First day of autumn:
Reading on the porch with a
roast in the Crock-Pot.

Summer Simplicity

As summer begins to
close her eyes in
exchange for fall's
awakening, I want
to remember these
days; what it feels
like to slip into
sandals, and hop into
the car without a
jacket and drive to
meet some friends
with Tennessee's green
hills in front of me and
the sun on my back.

(Tonight, I saw an old, white Corolla)

Tonight, I saw an old, white Corolla
like the one you had when we were
in love and in the closet.

East Side Storytellin' 62 recap, podcast now online

The East Side Storytellin' 62 recap and podcast are now available online!  Although I highly recommend that you take the time to listen to gifted singer/songwriter Lauren Farrah's set, you can hear my poetry set at the very beginning of the podcast, as well as a brief Q&A with Lauren, host Chuck Beard, and myself at the very end of it.  Artists unite!

Thank you!

Thanks to all of you who attended East Side Storytellin' tonight.  A very special thanks to Dave, Debbie, Joan, Randy, Rebecca and Robert for your support!

Join us!

WHAT: East Side Storytellin' 62

WHO: Poet Amy E. Hall & Musician Lauren Farrah

WHERE: The Post, 1701 Fatherland St., Nashville, TN

WHEN: Tuesday, July 7, from 7 to 8:30 p.m.

(the cardinal)

the cardinal
sounding off
like the Fourth of July

with gratitude to Rebecca J. Davenport for a spectacular ending

(Tonight, I join the ranks of the firefly)

Tonight, I join the ranks of the firefly,
lighting up the summer sky,
my glowing cigar lifted high.

UPDATED: Confessions of a Cover(ed) Girl

Thanks to my peach fuzz,
albino eyelashes and eyebrows,
and pale, blotchy skin,
when I don't
wear makeup,
I look like
a baby opossum --
white and pink
with small, beady eyes
and soft, fuzzy skin.

(I know how to be)

I know how to be
what everyone else thinks I should be.
Now I must learn how to be me.

You are invited!

WHAT: East Side Storytellin' 62

WHO: Poet Amy E. Hall & Musician Lauren Farrah

WHERE: The Post, 1701 Fatherland St., Nashville, TN

WHEN: Tuesday, July 7, from 7 to 8:30 p.m.

Join us!

East Side Storytellin’ 62

I am very pleased to announce that I will appear as the featured author at East Side Storytellin' 62 on July 7th.  More details to come!

Sugar Free, Calorie Free, Substance Free

Trying to have a conversation
about diversity of thought
with an absolutist
is like
attempting to brainstorm
about throwing a beautiful dinner party --
appetizers, soups, salads, entrees, drinks and desserts --
with someone who is
solely interested
in serving Diet Coke all night.

Happy Mother's Day!

The Dancing Queen

She taught us what it meant to
be married to melody -- singing
and dancing across the linoleum
floor, sometimes lip-syncing and
sometimes belting out the lines
with gusto. My sisters and I sang
into hairbrushes with a sparkle in
our eyes, while the vinyl spun
'round and Mom reigned as queen
of the dining room dance floor.

You are invited!

I will be performing my poetry this Mother's Day at Nashville's ninth annual Women's Work festival. Come and enjoy an afternoon of original poetry and spoken word presented by wonderful women wordsmiths!

Sunday, May 10th, at 2:30 p.m.
Z. Alexander Looby Theater
Looby Branch Library
2301 Rosa L. Parks Blvd.
Nashville, TN
$10

For more information, or to purchase tickets in advance, please visit the Tennessee Women's Theater Project online.

Confessions of a Cover(ed) Girl

When I don't
wear makeup,
I look like
a baby opossum --
white and pink
with small, beady eyes
and soft, fuzzy skin.

NOTE: See the updated version of this poem here.

Making Up My Mind

When I don't wear makeup,
I feel like I'm disappointing
my family, community and society
because I look "prettier"
with makeup.
I feel like I'm not
"living up to my full potential"
or representing my family,
my community
or matriarchy "well."

But I do not exist
to achieve people's approval.
I exist because
I have a life to live --
one life, one shot,
mine.

I do not owe the world
"beauty."
I do not owe society
"pretty."
I do not exist to make
everyone else feel comfortable,
contented, or complimented.

Still, giving myself permission to
not look "my best" is
challenging for a perfectionist.

News flash to self:
I do not owe the world
"perfect."

Perhaps somehow, somewhere
in the recesses of my psyche,
I believe that I am more
valuable, more lovable, more
acceptable
if I am as "pretty"
or as "perfect"
as I can be.

Perhaps I have been
poisoned by the patriarchal preconception
(and the people who have practiced and propagated it)
that women are worthy of
acceptance, admiration, appreciation, approval, and affection
only when they are "pleasing" to the eye.

Dear Whippoorwill Willy

If I had wanted to be serenaded by your
domineering whistle during my lunch hour --
with your fortissimo flourishes and fanciful finesse,
your boisterous bellows and troubling treble --
I would have specifically requested a private performance or
purchased your spirited show on CD or DVD or
attended a rousing public recital or
elected to allow you to commandeer my ears,
my mental respite and my personal space.
I would not have sat down in the corner of a public cafeteria
with a book and a meal alone, hoping for a bit of solitude
in the middle of a hectic, harried day.

Women's Work 2015

I have been invited to present my poetry at the ninth annual Women's Work festival on May 10th. Stay tuned for more details!

Happy National Library Week! Exhibit E:

In celebration of National Library Week, I have posted a book-related piece each workday this week. 

In This Wow

Have you ever
held a book
in your hands
that felt so right?
A book that
felt perfect,
and supple
and soft, but
firm in all the right places?
A book that
belongs
in your hands
at this moment;
at this time?
A book that
was written
years ago
but was meant
for you
right here; right now?
A book that,
in this moment,
makes time and space
make sense
in this place,
in this moment,
in this now?

Happy National Library Week! Exhibit D:

In celebration of National Library Week, I will post a book-related piece each workday this week.  Today, a haiku:

Happiness is a
personal library stocked
with books yet unread.

Happy National Library Week! Exhibit C:

In celebration of National Library Week, I plan to post a book-related piece each workday this week.  Today, a haiku:

excited to finish the book;
sad to see it
end

Happy National Library Week! Exhibit B:

In celebration of National Library Week, I plan to post a book-related piece each workday this week.  Today, a haiku:

first sniff:
got makeup on the
pages of my new book

Happy National Library Week! Exhibit A:

In celebration of National Library Week, I plan to post a book-related poem each workday this week. 

Between the Lines and Me

I like to hold books and
magazines and CD booklets
in my hands. Electronic
versions don't allow
for handling and care
and communion between
the author, the pages,
the words and the reader.

I like to live in a book --
to touch and participate,
to make notes in the margins,
to bravo, to question, to laugh.
There is a quiet exchange
between the lines and me,
a silent interaction (though
sometimes I laugh out loud
or sigh with great delight).

Every new book is a
literary cornucopia --
full of wit, mystery,
inspiration, wisdom --
a word awaiting, a
new world to discover,
to experience, to embrace,
a friend to keep on the
shelf of my heart.

Mornings Are Such a Drag

By the time I arrive at the office,
I am exhausted.
I have already been awake for several hours,
the bulk of which I have spent beautifying myself:
showering, shampooing, shaving, conditioning,
applying styling foam to my hair while it's wet,
and then tending to my face --
moisturizer, base, blush,
tweezers, brow brush,
mascara, three shades of eyeshadow,
eyeliner, brow pencil, lip moisturizer
and, finally, three shades of lipstick.
Then for the home stretch:
blow-drying my hair upside down,
blow-drying my hair straight (right side up),
followed by styling with smoothing fluid,
and sealing the deal with hairspray.

It's like an art or science fair project
that you do every morning
before you can get to your
actual day.
I feel like a drag queen,
each day applying makeup
and hair and jewelry
in an effort to appear as an alternate version of myself --
a more refined and beautiful version of myself.
Although, unlike a drag queen,
all of this work makes me tired and irritated,
not excited and exhilarated.

Sticky Fingers: Like a Kid in a Candy Store

Dear Co-worker:

My candy dish is a gesture of goodwill -- meant to be
visited a couple of times during the workday in moderation --
not a vehicle by which to fill your child's entire Easter basket.

Signed,

Your Supposed Sugar Mommy

Poached by an Egg

Finished the last of
the hard-boiled eggs
this morning and
stabbed my thumb --
the shell shards
actually drawing blood.
I never knew
Easter eggs could
be so violent.

(I see hints of my)

I see hints of my
grandfather's hand in my own
shadow this morning.

Happy International Women's Day!

The Definition of Insanity Turned on Its Head

If we were all born
with different genetics --
different hair
textures, hues and thicknesses,
different eye
colors, shapes and sizes,
different nose,
breast and chest guises,
different skin tones,
and cheek bones
and ear lobes,
different lips and hips and dips,
different metabolisms,
heights and body types --
why do we,
in all our glorious variety,
seek to shed our delicious diversity
in order to adhere to
one "standard" of beauty or identity?

To Have and to Hold

Note: You can see the prequel to this poem, "A Johnnie for John," here.

If I can't hold a record or a book in my hands,
it doesn't seem quite real.
It's virtually invisible --
seemingly nonexistent.
While I can appreciate
facets of the digital world,
I want to hold art
in my hands.
I want to touch it.
I want to experience it
in a tangible way.
I want to own a piece
of the magic.
I want to commit to it,
like a partner,
like a spouse.
No cheap fling for me.
Nothing to consume quickly and
walk away from easily.
I want to invest in it.
I want it to mean something.
I want to connect to it
physically and emotionally.
I want to see it,
touch it with my fingers,
and hold it in the palms of my hands.
I want to engage with it.
I want to spend time with it.
I want to spread it out on the table
and study every inch of it.
I want to join myself
to the force of life and love
that created it.

Snow Garden

Our yard was a garden
of snow and our father
was the gardener. He
made snow forts and
an obstacle course of
sorts for my sisters and
me in the front yard one
winter. It was an exciting
adventure, and a little
bit scary, but I felt safe
knowing that Dad was
guiding the sled and
guarding the fort. I still
remember his laugh
that day as we squealed
with delight, holding tight
to the orange, plastic sled.

Little Did We Know (Becoming Us)

The day I met you,
I didn't know
that this stranger would
become the person
I know the best.

When I first shook your hand,
little did I know
that I would
hold your hand today
and commit my forever
to you.

The first time that I
sat across the table from you
and looked into your eyes,
I couldn't have known
that those hazel eyes
would soon
see the good
and the bad in me
and accept me anyway --
the same eyes that
I will wake up to
every morning and
close in restful sleep beside
each night.

Those first drinks
on that first date --
a latte and a root beer --
would mark the beginning
of a lifetime of toasts --
culminating
in a champagne toast
on this day, our wedding day.

How could we have known
that our first conversation about
music and Patty Griffin
would reveal a shared passion
that would bond us together?
We didn't know then
that one of Patty's songs
would serve as the
conclusion to our
commitment ceremony today.

I couldn't have known that day
that you would change my life today.

Little did we know that
you and I
would become
us.

(real love: standing in)

In anticipation and celebration of Valentine's Day, I plan to post a love-related piece each day this week.  Sometimes love stinks...

real love: standing in
the bathroom while your partner
poops, just to catch up

Days Like These

In anticipation and celebration of Valentine's Day, I plan to post a love-related piece each day this week.  Here's to the heart!

It's taken me 16 years
to play this record again.
I didn't dare
to play it before
because I was afraid
of how much
it might hurt.

I selected it --
like a curator --
18 years ago
in the dark
on an adrenaline high.
I dashed out of
my roommate's room
and quickly -- but thoughtfully --
handpicked the album.
You were waiting for me
in the recently vacated room
and I wanted to be prepared
for what I hoped might happen --
what did happen,
thanks to Robert Deeble --
that and the months of
heavy make-out sessions
that led up to that day.
I was so high
on endorphins and young love
that night
that I didn't even care
that my body was
temporarily dyed blue
by my roommate's
deflowered futon.

Today, I play
the disc without pain,
thankfully; surprisingly --
except for the ache
that resides deep
in the corner closet
of my heart
that wonders what
may have happened --
and how different my life
might have been --
had we been allowed
to fully fall in love.

Chem Lesson

In anticipation and celebration of Valentine's Day, I plan to post a love-related piece each day this week.  I wrote this poem in 1998, the year I was finding my "poetry sea legs" as a graduating senior at Hope College.

I smooth my palm into
the dip between your
rib and hip bone
on the side facing
the ceiling. The tip top
of your big tip toe
makes my index finger
smile. The two interact,
as if old friends meeting
for the first time. Sometimes
there’s a connection
that happens between
body and soul, like
DNA at work or
the saving chemicals
that form antibiotic.

How My Sister Discovered That I Was in Love with Her Best Friend

In anticipation and celebration of Valentine's Day, I plan to post a love-related piece each day this week.  Here's to the heart!

"You would NEVER
do that for me," she said
in a huff, half shocked;
half outraged after learning
that I had treated J.J.'s
soup bowl like an underwater
hunting expedition --
navigating around the
diced carrots and potatoes,
green bean cuts, petite
peas, navy beans and
conchiglie to fish out
the kidney beans
that J.J. despised
so much. I shrugged
my shoulders, smiled
and stared at the floor
for a few seconds until
J.J. changed the subject,
wondering if we would
see snow that night.

(first love)

In anticipation and celebration of Valentine's Day, I plan to post a love-related piece each day this week.  Here's to the heart! 

first love --
hard to forget
difficult to remember

A Prayer for Beauty, Diversity and Equality

My latest piece for The Space Between arts blog is up, featuring my poem "Sunflowers and Birch Trees (Let It Be)."  It's a wish, a prayer of sorts -- for the bounty and beauty of diversity and equality in full bloom.  Take a look if you like!