Sunday, October 27, 2019

Sunday poem


A life spent on squared off stages
Brightly lit, glassed hair salons
Kitchens, conference rooms, coffee shops.
Everyone gets watched.
It’s always such a performance
Touch up, tummy tucks, airbrushed

I’d rather be off stage
In the shadows
Cloaked by velvet curtains
Cutting unwieldy curls by feel
In the dark recesses of the few. 
Here we know to whisper,
Lined faces bruised or shadowed.
We’re all ready for our cue;
Unkempt, unlit, unscripted.


Thursday, October 3, 2019


Poem #7

This poem won’t fix everything.
It won’t make it hurt any less.
The wound will heal at its own pace
Rinse, clean white gauze, wet to dry.
Eat well, nutrition, rest
Sleep when the sun sets.
It takes time.
You must fill this empty space
With words and lines 
While you wait.  
Those old jagged scars
Are markers of time
The spaced minutes
On a clock’s face
The hash marks etched 
Into the gray wall of your solitary cell