Poetry

Five years from the time I last saw him I return for a visit mid-September with Michelle and Christy, my two young daughters, to find Nonno continues the practice of…

A candle flickers, Shadows dance erotic on wall, Curves sway, make waves. Cloth is shed, left behind Like skin from snake’s body. Arms and legs weave into Kama Sutra poses,…

I come to you from the land of spoons and knives because forks are for people who cook for people who have molars I’ve got a rubber duck in my…

This one has flopped its tired body across my chest      I caress Its damp curls      Its hot cheek That one      In the corner Stands silent      Looking…

He won’t take my breast now. the milk has changed, my smell, the skin of the areolas has turned in the progesterone of pregnancy. He wants me. I saw it…

My sons squabble over checkers, assigning blame for the missing piece. Their shrill accusations ricochet off my kitchen walls. Slumped on the sofa, my husband watches war. Grenades drop through…

This morning I was showered with the blessing of the new year. With head bowed I watched the droplets fly and sanctify. Later the chub cheek of my son rubs…

I have been mother to rock-chuckers, work-shirkers, back talkers who have incurred the wrath of teachers, coaches, choir directors, and neighbor ladies, and still I have loved, as diaper rash…

Ghost season, my daughter calls it. The time the dead draw nearer. The wasps are hungry. They flit along the clothesline among the muggy towels, slick sheets, lick sweat off…

My five-year-old daughter slides her fingers between her thighs holds her hand out to me and says, “smell.” I hesitate, bring my nose closer to her hand, take a token…

Bring me the bedding that held his sleep and blind I’d know it as his. Pungent smell with an acrid edge, like delicious food just starting to turn. Since infancy,…