Exhumed: the watcher

he feels your decay: with his hands, his touch on your skull. he is finally inside your mind, pulsating energy rushing through his finger tips. your thoughts melt into him. “I am skin and blood and rot and mud.” before his eyes, you blur. beauty falls away, snowflakes of flesh and teeth catch on your…

Knowing Sylvia Plath

I am surprised you have survived until now. Sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet. Father’s gun in the closet. Razor on the sink. Cold steel burns. No tears, only blood. I will never know love. Your parents will delight in one less disappointment when you are laid to rest. Rest? And you still think sleep…

The Troll Bridge

the clatter of skateboard wheels, the crunch of tussling in autumn leaves, laughter at intimate jokes, lines from movies and books, dreams spun spider web thin, abandoned, collecting dust, yet sparkling in the right slant of light these memories, we shared, now mine alone I horde, an angry troll under the bridge that others dare…

Dust on My Head

You collect your pretty, pretty things on the shelf  for everyone to see. Caveat emptor!   Had I known then, what I know now, the person I would be.

The Second Calling

The Second Calling I Do you know why I want to believe in ghosts? The night you died, the phone broke through our wailing. I answered a screen filled with zeros to echoes of silence. II As they wheeled you away, I kissed your forehead, the cold radiating through me like winter glass my frostbit…

To Matt

your image recedes, like a silhouette beneath dark waters the presence known by the points of light left in its wake, the way phosphorescent algae bursts to life as you swim. You cut through darkness with brilliance that hovers and shimmers long after you have glided beyond. Yet when I close my eyes you are…

Five elegies (elegy 5: the victim)

bound by blood red ribbons that had held her hair, a cloak of black engulfs her head— blinding her eyes, stifling her pleas as she awaits the next touch of his cold blade. She feels only her naked skin and open wounds, cold and hot, but has lost the ability to feel her body in…

Five elegies (elegy 4: the boyfriend

He stares at her picture:  golden highlights, swinging in the hammock next to him. she was so wonderful to touch. her last breath is a question to him: her thoughts, prayers. What did he do to her before she died? How much did she suffer?  he digs his nails into his gray sheets, wondering: where…

Five elegies (Elegy 3: the younger sister)

a dress is not worth             so much as this. the fight should not have happened. cotton and stitch.   But it’s mine after all, I am not to blame.       I didn’t tell her to go. she had plenty to wear.  So what if it matched her gray sweater.  I should have gone like she…

Five elegies (Elegy 2: the father)

He must be strong not to cry.  His wife needs his strength. As he walks into a world of satin lining, he thinks of her Prom.  The satin and lace gown had flown around her like flocks of dappled canaries.  Yellow is her favorite color. This satin shall shroud her. He winces. The gray light…