Posts Tagged: poetry
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
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
the hierarchy of desire
At table 8, she introduces herself (I am your hole-filler, your anonymous food-bringer, faceless feeder), takes their order, and scoots back to the kitchen where her boss, Mulholland, is waiting by the door. His lips are pursed, but he’s not asking for a kiss. “Full hands in, full hands out,” he reminds her, and his eyes inspect her so thoroughly it feels surgical.
the hierarchy of desire
At table 8, she introduces herself (I am your hole-filler, your anonymous food-bringer, faceless feeder), takes their order, and scoots back to the kitchen where her boss, Mulholland, is waiting by the door. His lips are pursed, but he’s not asking for a kiss. “Full hands in, full hands out,” he reminds her, and his eyes inspect her so thoroughly it feels surgical.
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
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.
drinking game
how to play: drink a shot every time you hear a number. 1. maybe your childhood was what they call normal or maybe not but either way 2. you turned out fine, at least you looked as fine as most young
drinking game
how to play: drink a shot every time you hear a number. 1. maybe your childhood was what they call normal or maybe not but either way 2. you turned out fine, at least you looked as fine as most young
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
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
unshod quills
I have an unbelievable story to tell you. One day, an editor found me on Facebook then published one of my essays in her literary magazine, Unshod Quills. This story lacks verisimilitude, and yet it’s truly true. Dena Rash Guzman and
unshod quills
I have an unbelievable story to tell you. One day, an editor found me on Facebook then published one of my essays in her literary magazine, Unshod Quills. This story lacks verisimilitude, and yet it’s truly true. Dena Rash Guzman and
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
please say it for me please
I Go Back to May 1937 BY SHARON OLDS I see them standing at the formal gates of their colleges, I see my father strolling out under the ochre sandstone arch, the red tiles glinting like bent plates of blood
please say it for me please
I Go Back to May 1937 BY SHARON OLDS I see them standing at the formal gates of their colleges, I see my father strolling out under the ochre sandstone arch, the red tiles glinting like bent plates of blood
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
girl in the hat 