Category: Poetry

November 14, 1997

I’m standing alone in a wood panel room, staring with unfocused eyes at the thin, taught carpet that barely veils the concrete floor beneath it. There are people coming in and out of the room; dressing, preparing, talking casually. I haven’t slept in a couple days and I’ve got that kind of surreal, out-of-body tunnel vision that you only get…

In The Morning

In the morning, I wake early before the sun is up. The night was short and still weighs heavy on my body. I stretch and move, trying to revive my muscles and waken my spine. Like an insect trapped in a web, I struggle to escape my slumber. In the kitchen I heat some ghee in my favorite cast iron…

The Glance

There’s something that I’ve noticed between my Mother and my Father. I see it happen every once in a while though I’m sure it’s escaped my notice more often than not. —— The first time I noticed it was on a Sunday morning when I was 11 years old. My Father was preaching, as he always did on Sundays, and…

The Peach Tree

The remainder of a peach is sitting on the counter at my grandmother’s house Its tender yellow flesh and acid tang sweetness now settle in my young stomach Its juice fills my blood and runs down my chin The jagged seed is all that’s left of the once vibrant plump fruit I assume that it should be discarded, but my…

Perfect Day

When I was young, we would visit my grandmother every summer. She lived by the ocean and the drive took days. While we are there, we go to the beach every day. I remember the taste of the ocean water in my mouth, the invisible pull of the skin on my face, dried by salt and sun. The grit of…

My Mother

When my mother speaks, there is a sound that only I recognize. It weaves through crowded rooms and difficult days. It slips by startling laughter and under closed doors. It even resonates in the air when there are no words  being said.  Lingering, as if she were still nearby, going about her day. When I hear it, I know that…

My Father

My father wakes me gently It’s early.  Too early to even call it a morning “Get dressed” he whispers as the day’s events seep back into my mind We drive for what seems like hours to stop and have breakfast as the sun rises Eggs that look like big yellow clouds and chocolate milk that’s colder than snow. The air…