Poetry is the voice of the simple.
Even the simple understand grief
abandonment
terror
devastation
surprise
elation
satisfactio­n
delight
resolve
surrender

The agony of love
can know nothing
of the blood
that spills
niagra style
out of my heart.

You are walking, I am walking;
We breathe in the same-exact-moment
We are both alive.

It is like my womb still holds us both
we are twins being warmed by the same pulsing beat of life.
Our skin is the same one made from the other.

I am following you,
seeking you,
my mind reaches for you.

GO OUTSIDE!!!!

three women looked in at me
one black man barely glanced,

I couldn't step onto the stage
that year, or any other year.

thirty thirteen year-olds
moved into the arena like cattle

wearing too much lipstick. unstoppable.
385,000 babies entered the world that day,

all crying. I became irritated, anxious,
like I needed to go back in time.

I kept reading, losing my breath, until I had to leave the room.

There is a hope in our children
when we birth their tiny hands
waiting for them to make their
first markings.

They are bluish, cloudless skies and
miracles, like magicians
out of thin air
waving wands coaxing
a future mother has been
dreaming of.

Empty nest of twigs broken
against arms holding,
reaching, straining to take back
the damaged days burnt under
a sunlight.

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