What a Catch
A woman
without legs
is like a fish
without a bicycle,
unaware that there
are cleaner ways
of moving forward,
than dragging
its belly
across the shore,
like running,
or
riding a bicycle
Category: Poetry
Bowing to Each Other
I catch them doing it,
in plain sight,
without aid of glasses
or flashlight —
cautious as deer
in duck season.
Deer except for
a certain grace,
which no human actor
may replicate —
regardless of the shoes
she is wearing.
Not that I can say,
being neither close
as a slingshot,
nor far
as a gunshot;
rather, in the range
Of bow and arrow,
where it’s impossible
to give a good lick,
but plausible
they might curl
at the toes.
Do you see what I see?
Standing stockstill
and clothed —
It must be, I know,
their first time doing it
I am catching.
From my bower,
where sanctity protects
and discretion is easy,
I can play along —
should there come
a part fit for me.
A part shaped like
house and chimney,
formed of the negative space
between two columns,
whose alert, animal faces
lurch
Toward the same bit;
to champ together,
separately —
in practical relationship
to one
another.
Catch me creepinglikeadog
[WOLF enters stage center]
to introduce awareness
of that separation,
and the necessity
of feeling it,
As hopefulness;
for more advances on the path
for getting closer to
enlightenment
than this:
The highest form of intimacy is bowing to each other.
Hard Feelings
We might call them
easy-to-hang-on feelings
or forms of regret
or crushes
or something else entirely
like how I call them
passing.
From hour to hour,
from day to day,
like clouds,
they manifest
in predictive
patterns and shapes;
but, no duck.
In the sky,
there’s no cover
for lovers,
there’s no milk
for apple pie;
but, perhaps,
enough water
to call them
hard-to-swallow-
but-not-impossible feelings,
or thoughts that run,
or what happens when
one of us says
to the other:
“I’m leaving.”
Emily
This is not another one about
how I would like to kiss you,
how I forever and always,
Sincerely miss you; because
I is tired of acting, because
You is tired of passing, because
We are tired of writing poetry
that pleases the masses,
but leaves us feeling like asses,
For dishing out what is expected,
for speaking in a different voice
that sounds too akin to a whine
to belong to a prophet or pastor,
or someone in the business,
of delivering advice,
and receiving forgiveness.
This is not another confession.
This is a poem. About something.
A poem about politics or pedagogy
Or people, but not a person not
some arbitrary object of love
named You.
There may be pretty rhymes,
enjambs, and bits of tulle,
but do not be distracted.
There’s more to be desired
inside. Go ahead,
and unwrap this.
This poem does not care
if you muss up her hair,
and feels no shame
For setting it, or for wearing
a belt to accentuate her form.
That’s what [women] poets do.
We have the tools
for spinning letters
into fine language,
And are not afraid
to use them.
That’s what makes us crafty,
And crooked.
Beauty is essential to our strategy,
of getting you to pick up this thing
That, despite its gender, does not bend
to the feminine style, or other limits,
which do not exist.
There were no concessions made
for your taste, aside from that
brief mention of love,
Just because. Because
Emily is an ode, with brown hair
and brown eyes, and a mouth that
shouts sometimes;
To her lover, who also has hair
and eyes, and a mouth that gives
kisses to Emily.
Emily is neither sweet as pie,
nor humble as mashed potatoes,
but she is what I like,
And this is not about you.
Re: What Should I Do With My Life? (2014)
: Kayla. Please don’t be neurotic. That was just a bashful reply. We are what I’ve always wanted.
: Hey! — I saw this thing and thought of you. On a bus to Paducah, KY…
: Ow, my heart.
: That was lovely and iconic.
: There might be a part of me that loves you.
: Emotions are strange, huh? I do miss talking to you. Though, I don’t understand how I could be “everything.”
: This message was created automatically by mail delivery software. A message that you sent could not be delivered to one or more of its recipients. This is a permanent error. The following address(es) failed: recipient@domain.com.
: k don’t know what’s local but most towns have several general practitioners to choose from and there are clinics that don’t require any appointment for care asap so no excuse better take advantage of being insurance coverage wonts always be that fortunate use it before you lose love ya dad is home if you just need to talk
: You sound quite lucid. Refer to these the next time you don’t know what to do.
: Oy, I’m sorry, gurl. I know the feeling.
: Put on some Beyonce! Some Miley! Some TSwift!
: Life takes many twists and turns and never quite ends up how we imagined it would as little girls. You have been fortunate in your endeavors, but surely it is easy to understand missing what you left behind. The unknown is what adventure lies ahead. Never forget you are a special lady. Take care.
: What a big change! That must be really difficult.
: Wow. Damn, Kayla. Well good for you. Sounds like you’re pretty grounded. I bet that was a difficult decision.
: Awesome – good for you – I’m glad you’re keeping your options open. I wasn’t completely sold on that guy. I had a crazy stalker for 2 months! That’s as close to a relationship as I’ve gotten in far too long…
: Here to talk whenever you’re ready. Miss hearing from you.
: Last night it really hit me how much the emotional distance between us changes things. I’m not connecting with people here that I want to, and I feel like there’s a gap in my social life that may take a long time to fill.
: Dear, sweet Kayla, thank you for thinking of me. I’ve secretly been reading your poems for months now. You are exceptional. I am juggling a bundle of things, but I promise to read this and write back ASAP. xoxo.
: Call me tomorrow afternoon…I didn’t even see the missed call. I think I had the phone turned off for a bit. Hey, I got an iPad!!!!!!!!!!
: I appreciate your kindly sentiments, Kayla. I plan on doing just as you’ve written, hunkering down and allowing my head to settle some.
: I have no doubt you’ll learn a lot about yourself. I know I haven’t seen my family in a year, maybe more now that I’m moving again. Just keep yourself busy. Do the things that bring you joy. Peace will come.
okay poetry 