the forsythia is in bloom
and the birds twitter among her branches
lovely ones, with white bellies

they scatter when he approaches
and grabs a branch,
twisting it off,
petals floating to the wet ground below

oh, stolen innocence
easter sunday spinning in a yellow church dress
the little girl is laid in her grave
and covered by a flock of rabbits
sniffing about her blank eyes

how he loved those blank, blank eyes

empty childhood bedroom
princess pink walls
cracked, sun bleached playhouse
bunny barrettes

hungering empty bedroom
abandoned virtual pets
corroded battery ports
a forum deleted forever
digital detritus

moldering empty bedroom
a melody half remembered
a box full of old art
a playground empty at sunrise
coyote howls

last seen online 7 years ago
last seen online 1 decade ago
this profile has been deleted for inactivity

sunscreen shimmers on your skin like siren scales
your hand, dirt under bitten nails, idly picks at the grass
and you fidget with the braided bracelet around your wrist

i try not to stare while you talk
so i don’t fall in love with
your velvet dark eyes,
the upturned corners of your soft lips
and the way your nose flares while you smile

you laugh like a prayer

disassembled dream dust
swirling deoxyribonucleic acid
skittering heartbeat
numb
pheromones
encased in
silk

ion purple wings emerge damp
chasing rainbows
sweet scent
delicately ***** hands
long hair like
strands of
silk

im changing im changing im changing
into something
beautiful

something
about the water
just the right temperature
the earth dreams and
proteins coalesce
life, out of unlife
i dip my big toe in
a trilobite comes up to bite it
from the sun touched silt
poor thing, i think, stroking its back
poor thing to be unmoored in time
poor thing, suffocated because the earth
changed her mind, tried again,
words erased on a page,
skittering legs going still,
belly up,
silt bed,
sand grave,
dark sleep without dreams

nymph in january
beating earth-heart
thaws soil
boots sink in mud and
flying ants spiral
to the sky
tiny glimmering wings
raindrops
snowdrops
drop dead
humming bugdream head
i thought it was spring, he said

i sit in the coffee shop
writing poetry on a brown napkin
with a purple gel pen
remembering how my life was saved
by a cup of tea
beckoning me
out of my messy bed
out of my summer-sad head
and into the real world
with all its simple beauty
earthy warm green tea
but also
the hydrangeas in bloom
on the way home
and the little ladybug
hitching a ride on my shoe