Shuddering

I felt my mind shudder. Like a disused door pulled unexpectedly over warped floorboards and open for the first time in many dusty years. Like a cold engine under the rusted hood of a car long parked in the drive. Like the thick, taut, chestnut skin over the hock of…

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Before Words

On the floor, she kicks and kicks and looks at me and kicks some more, softly and firmly, so that I might expect little grunts of effort --like a piglet or a tennis player-- but she is silent. I lift her to me, glad at the breadth of her abiding…

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I am egg.

I am egg. I am shell, white, yolk. I am fertilized. I am haven. I am universe. I am holding on. I am necessary. I am perpetual. I am passing the time and counting down, but also keeping a record of these moments. I am the only one who can…

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An Unnamed Poem

_____________ I am afraid to name her. What if I call it wrong? If my moniker choice resists story, history, or song? Details of breeding and face, habits, regrets, disgrace... These I'll slap on her like travel stickers on a suitcase, but a name? So much weight. So I wait. One…

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