A sad truth

December 26, 2019


September 5, 2019

One morning in bed
I felt the blue sky
dance against my skin
like the lips of
anonymous strangers


August 26, 2019

On the bed

August 18, 2019

I open the bedroom door. The curtains stir. There you are
on the bed, like a gift, like a touchable dream.

Carol Ann Duffy


a good idea


May 31, 2016


My mother taught me to bleed based on the instructions of my grandmother– she made sure I might never forget. My daughters’ birthdays hurt like bee stings.

He says I am ugly, which is why he wanted to touch me, my breasts swollen unchristian things, and painful; there was darkness wrapped inside my apology.

                                                                   (my sex)

He looked upon my girls, who slept. He said they sleep as buds sleep, those carved nubs which only flower bright in funeral dress. I paid for anaesthetics.

Cut a little deeper, I told him, cut high up into the beds in their hard round bellies, cut, for if it hurts enough I heard you might find Him, deep, deeper…


On a small pink pad – like a petal, you said – He’ll wait, for the only explanation is the paradise you’re trying to extract, entering my little cubs in hard neat slits.

If you find Him, tell Him to come to me. Tell Him I’m sorry. Tell Him He’s wet my appetite – I want to be a fruit, or foam on the sea, I want, I want, I want…

                                                            (they bleed)










Always keep a tally…

September 28, 2015


Oh, such truth…

June 4, 2015