Featured Poems
Moon Rocks
I used to pick up moon rocks on the beach. Each one felt permanent. Heavy in my hand; weighty in the pail. I was allowed to choose and keep all of these little lovelies, all day, every day. Filling pots, bags, bowls. Consuming vessels to the brim, overflowing with rocky requirement. Rocks don’t really need much tending, not like a cat. Rocks don’t chat.
I have all of these rocks here, everywhere. Honestly. Shoe boxes, zip lock bags, probably in all kinds of containers. The rocks don’t even realize they’re being held captive inside of whatever apparatus I enclosed them inside.
I’ve bound many rocks. Also, I’ve stolen rocks from where I should have not taken them. I’ve taken rocks that were begging me to be taken. I think sometimes sessile creations want a different reality. It doesn’t mean that they must not be returned to their ground eventually.
To Fit This Girl
Understanding exploitation,
sheltering that girl lakeside
a terrain boasting battered,
broken pieces.
Gluing the fault line together,
as the breaching traverses the veil,
the black and tan.
Framing the shards, breathing injury,
encapsulating damage.
Shattering obstruction, tilting stone,
a fracture made to fit this girl.
A threshold to an expanse inside.
A place known at length
to those expended, thrown
against epoch emerging
holy resistant.
Requiring a region of magnanimous
extension. Widening, thickening roots.
