Tag Archives: writing

my child

Your eyes, half-hidden  under a mound of hair, peek out with curiosity and wonder.  Advertisements

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dance with death

Twirl me round with wide, wild steps. Never let go. photo: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Phenakistoscope_3g07690b.gif

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Stigmata

My bloodstained boots  Carry me through doors Into foreign lands And hostile territories. Generations  And generations  Of ancestors  At the mercy of their cells Follow closely behind.

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Reflection in a Mirror at the Mayflower Hotel

As your arms wrap tightly around me, I wonder if your face had the same expression when you hugged your wife after French toast with powdered sugar.

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damage control

I know a man who lives outside the bounds of marriage  all the while claiming loyalty to his wife.

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becoming

I have never felt more whole than now, despite coming through a year in which my body has been cut into multiple times and parts have been removed.

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Warrior Woman by Peter Gaumond

No blade can excise your fierce femininity, no illness withstand the cleansing of your tears. Wounds are swallowed in the embrace of your openness. Sing forth my priestess of transformation.

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