Poems

in the two hour sunset after the eight hour evening I become a goop puddle in your passenger seat. you play that song and I don’t know which words are coming next.

Some human cells adapt to toxic stress by physically becoming other cells. Smoke enough, and tall columns become flat lung lines. Turn 16, and girl lining becomes home-in-waiting. The word for this is metaplasia. It is supposed to be temporary.

This poem was once a bird | An eagle in fact | Whose span of wing | And accurate sight | Was the stuff that legend makes.

Common as pennies, they mob the feeder, empty it in a day— nothing left for finches, wrens, chickadees— birds from the genus Passeridae, meaning flutterer.

This morning, my body unfurls from sleep, soft sheets teasing bare breasts, groin thrumming. Outside my window, a goldfinch whistles and warbles. I laugh aloud. There are miracles in the garden…

Congratulations to the winners of the 2019 Dreamers Haiku Contest! We had over 600 haiku submitted to this contest. The number and quality of the entries…

The doctor adjusts his glasses, tells me the news. There isn’t much else. I leave the muted-colored office and beat my hands on the steering wheel.

I found in the pocket of the jeans I wore last night a yellow note: from the triple g&t…