Category Archives: almost-poems

Made

I was 11 when the boys clustered around me at lunch, calling names: skank, hoser, slut, scumbag, stupid butt-ugg bitch. I don’t recall why they hated me, only their sneering baby faces and those skinny chests puffed up with imaginary

Made

I was 11 when the boys clustered around me at lunch, calling names: skank, hoser, slut, scumbag, stupid butt-ugg bitch. I don’t recall why they hated me, only their sneering baby faces and those skinny chests puffed up with imaginary

knocking

At first I expected an answer. There was no doubt that someone would hear me knocking. The door will open any moment now because that’s how it works—knock and the door opens: on this we can all depend. After awhile, I

knocking

At first I expected an answer. There was no doubt that someone would hear me knocking. The door will open any moment now because that’s how it works—knock and the door opens: on this we can all depend. After awhile, I

If I Had a Dollar (Why I Am a Feminist)

Because my mother was a painter and a beauty when artists had patrons and a woman like that needed a man to take care of her, so she married a money man. Because my mother’s mother was a beauty and

If I Had a Dollar (Why I Am a Feminist)

Because my mother was a painter and a beauty when artists had patrons and a woman like that needed a man to take care of her, so she married a money man. Because my mother’s mother was a beauty and

Women Being Seen in 2014

Beyonce Being seen, being seen as a whole person—woman, mother, body, brain, artist, aesthetic, sensuality, mastermind—is a neat trick. I don’t care what they say. I want to see more. You make feminism look good. Hillary Every word, every move

Women Being Seen in 2014

Beyonce Being seen, being seen as a whole person—woman, mother, body, brain, artist, aesthetic, sensuality, mastermind—is a neat trick. I don’t care what they say. I want to see more. You make feminism look good. Hillary Every word, every move

redux

First: I keep working like a maniac, thinking I’m making time to write at week’s end, but that time never happens.  By Friday, my time is stale and moth-eaten and stuffed full of dirty laundry so starting next week, I’m going

redux

First: I keep working like a maniac, thinking I’m making time to write at week’s end, but that time never happens.  By Friday, my time is stale and moth-eaten and stuffed full of dirty laundry so starting next week, I’m going

brief vacation

                                                                Day 1 I feel funny in a bathing suit.

brief vacation

                                                                Day 1 I feel funny in a bathing suit.

spoken

  Do you like the sound of your own voice? Most don’t. I don’t. I think I sound like a little baby sucking her thumb, but I did this anyway. My man and I played around with a poem I wrote.

spoken

  Do you like the sound of your own voice? Most don’t. I don’t. I think I sound like a little baby sucking her thumb, but I did this anyway. My man and I played around with a poem I wrote.

i am the story

In the flapping of Borges’ pigeon wings, lodged in Gregor Samsa’s gizzard, in the cello played during commercials for luxury sedans and the crow clinging to the top of the telephone pole, behind a mountain’s profile, at the bottom of

i am the story

In the flapping of Borges’ pigeon wings, lodged in Gregor Samsa’s gizzard, in the cello played during commercials for luxury sedans and the crow clinging to the top of the telephone pole, behind a mountain’s profile, at the bottom of

xmas rejection song

All wholly shit. My time is wasted rhyming. Who wants to hear me complain? Come flay me now, paper cuts to silver lining then fill each hole up with spackle and paint. I’ll take my fill of dope and wine

xmas rejection song

All wholly shit. My time is wasted rhyming. Who wants to hear me complain? Come flay me now, paper cuts to silver lining then fill each hole up with spackle and paint. I’ll take my fill of dope and wine

song

This is a song this is a song without music for quiet people for those who don’t need so much stimulation who might prefer the softness of a spoon to the fork or the burn of the sun swallowed by

song

This is a song this is a song without music for quiet people for those who don’t need so much stimulation who might prefer the softness of a spoon to the fork or the burn of the sun swallowed by

house in my head

I have a house in my head. At night I clamber up to look around. I found it years ago–reaching into darkness, fumbling along walls I discovered the opening and hoisted myself up into a low-ceilinged room, close, cobwebbed, clogged

house in my head

I have a house in my head. At night I clamber up to look around. I found it years ago–reaching into darkness, fumbling along walls I discovered the opening and hoisted myself up into a low-ceilinged room, close, cobwebbed, clogged

middle class worries (a list in progress)

Microphones. Popped buttons. Papercuts. There, on my left side, at the edge of my ribcage, is a strange red welt that won’t go away. You know what that means, right? That plus the mole and the ache in my lower

middle class worries (a list in progress)

Microphones. Popped buttons. Papercuts. There, on my left side, at the edge of my ribcage, is a strange red welt that won’t go away. You know what that means, right? That plus the mole and the ache in my lower

Hole In My Heart

1 I was born with a hole in my heart. I’ve always thought that would make a good first line for a story but in reality, it wasn’t that dramatic. It was a small hole and by the time I

Hole In My Heart

1 I was born with a hole in my heart. I’ve always thought that would make a good first line for a story but in reality, it wasn’t that dramatic. It was a small hole and by the time I

fishing

I lean into the shadow of the wall with hat pulled low and my feet buried in sand. I’m holding a book but my eyes move off the page. The woman to my right is applying sunscreen. Her hands move

fishing

I lean into the shadow of the wall with hat pulled low and my feet buried in sand. I’m holding a book but my eyes move off the page. The woman to my right is applying sunscreen. Her hands move

bird watching

bird watching by Anna Fonté The word observation can mean both attention and devotion, as if watching is both a scientific and a spiritual practice, as if there were a fascial connection between eye, heart, and beyond. I see some

bird watching

bird watching by Anna Fonté The word observation can mean both attention and devotion, as if watching is both a scientific and a spiritual practice, as if there were a fascial connection between eye, heart, and beyond. I see some

her hand

her hand by anna fonté hot & solid in my hand, when i hold hers i grip a hunk of liquid crystal baked in sun it worms into me, swimming veins, up to my armpit where it curls inside my chest

her hand

her hand by anna fonté hot & solid in my hand, when i hold hers i grip a hunk of liquid crystal baked in sun it worms into me, swimming veins, up to my armpit where it curls inside my chest