OctPoWriMo, Day 30 (Poem 28)


I was fifteen years old when I died
And did not die.

The shrouds are gone from the mirrors,
The end of the mourning marked, strangely,
By the loss of my mother and brother.
I have not seen my face for months.
I can not be sure —
(in any way besides the innate (misplaced) trust
that we have in the honesty of mirrors)
— that the face on the other side is mine.

There is a gauntness to my cheeks I do not recognize.
There is a shifting of shadows not triggered by the light.
My fingers reach out towards the glass and touch
Warm hands and ragged nails.

I was fifteen years old when I died
And did not die.
My visions skews sideways
and goes black.

This was a rework of an older poem that I wrote (inspired very heavily by Welcome to Night Vale) that I repurposed and rewrote for the “split” prompt for OctPoWriMo.

OctPoWriMo, Day 30 (Poem 27)


Flip Clock

Sometimes I miss my grandmother’s old flip-clock
That sat perfectly centered on the white crocheted doily
On her bedside table,
And how at 11:11, I would hold my breath and wish
Until the soft flutter of the numbers turning over,
Like a closed door, like a turned page, like something new.

Now, I watch the glowing LED.
The numbers cast my room with a sickly glow,
And at 11:11, I hold my breath and wish.

Time slips silently by, one moment to the next.

I keep holding my breath.

This was written for the number prompt during OctPoWriMo.

Today is a day of pretty substantial catching up; I’ve had poems 27 and 28 already written for a few days now, I just haven’t had an opportunity to post, and poem 29 is nearly finished (but not quite).  I’m hoping to get all four out today and be officially caught up.

This has been a crazy month creatively, and I’m a little nervous about delving into NaNoWriMo on Thursday having had no real time to prep, but hey.  I pantsed for years – twice I won with the pantsing method (like, thirteen times I lost, but let’s… let’s just not right now, okay?)

OctPoWriMo, Day 28 (Poem 26)


You came into the world red-faced, howling;
Your eyes the tumultuous blue of a storm-wrecked sea.

You’d weathered a storm to see me, screamed to the skies
As you were borne, tempest-tossed, into a strange new world.

Now, your eyes, the clear blue of a summer morning;
Your smile an incandescent thing that can dispel the darkest clouds.

You were never meant for December:  your aster eyes shine,
Joy blooms across your face like a perpetual April.

This was written for OctPoWriMo – late, during a bust weekend! – and is a blank verse poem written for the color prompt.

OctPoWriMo, Day 25 (Caught Up)


Giving Love

Giving love
Is all I’ve ever done
Bent over backwards, twisted in knots
Here in my hands, an offering: here is my heart
You took it without a word of thanks
Only asked if it could
Beat faster

This was written for OctPoWriMo, 31 poems in 31 days.  this was written using the given prompt “the door opens both ways,” and the form triquain.

OctPoWriMo, Day 25 (Poem 24)


Clouds part like curtains
Sunshine, golden yellow
Spills out like butter

Her lips part in thought
A candy-hint pink of tongue
Feels too intimate

The door opening
Startles the cat; give me hope
That you have come home

This was written for OctPoWriMo, 31 poems in 30 days.  This one was written to the prompt “opening,” three takes on the theme in haiku. 

OctPoWriMo, Day 24 (Poem 23)

ReclaimingSneaking Out 

We wait until your parents fall asleep before we clamor out your bedroom window — hardly a grand gesture in a bungalow, but the feeling, God, the feeling is a low, delicious tingle somewhere just above your tailbone that makes all your hair stand on end and your joints feel just a bit like they’re melting.  We’re twelve years old, and we don’t even go anywhere, because that’s not the point, damn it; the point is, we could — we could.  There’s no sound, no creaking doors or lights flicked on, no acknowledgement at all that we are no longer huddled safely in our sleeping bags on your bedroom floor.  We could leave.  We could disappear.

We settle in the grass, the blades brittle from the summer sun, but damp in the late-night humidity.  In the silence, only crickets, and the soft knocking of moths, battering their wings against your screen door.  The sky is limitlesss, and we lie in breathless silence, momentarily overwhelmed by the boundlessness above us.

Within us as well
Vast unexplored expanses
Thrill and terrify

This poem was written for OctPoWriMo, and is once again in the form of  haibun (prose poetry followed be a haiku).  The month is winding down, but feel free to jump at any tiime if the mood strikes.

OctPoWriMo, Day 22


To you, I offered up my heart;
Beating, red, on a silver platter.
Hungrily, you rent it apart;
I felt each gnash, each tear, each tatter.
Retching, in ruin, I asked how it was;
A smile stretched out your terrible jaws,
And in a voice dripping with pleasure,
Say, “To tell the truth, I’ve had much better.”

This is for OctPoWriMo, which you should all be following, for real!.  This is an Italian form called a rispetto, which I’ve really fudged the meter on, but hey, all’s fair in love and poetry.