Category Archives: Uncategorized

Thanksgiving Dreamed My Poem

The poem I’m wrestling with wrestled with me all week.My dreamlife gave me these ideas: That pungent vinaigrette in the little dish:pour the rest over the poem. It will taste delicious. Push that boulder which is also a wordover the poem’s … Continue reading

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The New Thanksgiving Travel

Thanksgiving Travel You used to see the Bay; now on the way to SFOa bevy of clashing billboards, all blood-bright graphics and codes incomprehensible to the AI-dumb among us.Dumb and dumber.   Look at the airline staff: all yawns, blank, demoted to … Continue reading

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Be Here Now, California (gaps included)

Imagine, at this age, to have brought beginner’s mind to California.  Where have I been?  In the land of the skeptic, in France.  But what luck to have had California before me.  Full-on sensory discovery. Enthusiasm has a way of being boundless. (Forgive me … Continue reading

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To Rachel, at 30

Rachel is ecstatic, sparks of static electricity travelingto, from and between her and us She may have rubbed her back on a charged shag rug Yesterday her last sunset in her 20s5:04, only the sun’s orange cap, 5:05, cap sinks into … Continue reading

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On Seeing Kara Walker in Mary Janes

I was curious about the guard when she came over.There was a gap between her teeth, coffee-skinned, in museum guard clothes.  Around us the monstrosities of race, freestanding caricatures of the enslaved with robotic nerves – a man strives after a severed limb; … Continue reading

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Silent Fall

The frenzy of fall after ceding all to the sun  we walk into the pauserapt, the minus, not the slightest jangleof cicada silencesucking downinto earth’s own navel

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Poetry’s “Winged Words”

I’m becoming a real fan of poetry read aloud.  I love to hear words animated.  Silence falls, and the voice, with its hypnotic or musical or walking tones, steps in. Now that I’ve had the chance to read several times from … Continue reading

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Road Trip

Along comes the poet in her own lane,seeing a pale moon disktickled by fall grasses.  So much wrestling, keep beauty and truth tattooed on the forehead, as one’s own headlights, a third eye.   Tremble. To be so vulnerable, yet so powerful.  

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A Short Interview with Myself

A SHORT INTERVIEW WITH MYSELF Reader:  Your chapbook “Diaspora of Things” stems from the occasion of dismantling your mother’s house.  In the commentary, I read that the speaker moves from inert mute grief and disorientation to a greater understanding of differences and … Continue reading

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Diaspora of Things

My chapbook, “Diaspora of Things,” will be coming out in a few weeks.  It’s been a while since my last brush with the publishing world. Poets warned that I wouldn’t have much control. It would be the equivalent of “making a … Continue reading

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