Tag Archives: Quickly in November

Rainbows in Rearviews

.. Look out, world. We’re about to back window ROY G. BIV our way through another day.   .. Prompted by Quickly in November, day 20.     

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Cracking Spines Open with Her Bare Hands

. Give her pages. A soft place. A warm cup. And enough. Enough time. Enough brain space. Enough traces of ink on her skin, as her fingers travel. Enough unraveling of her own self to allow her to swallow whole … Continue reading

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know your onions

.. mother says pass (they make her eyes run, what with all those layers) but if you can hang in there a many peeling moon or two, there are things held close at center.   .. Prompted by Quickly in … Continue reading

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Quickly, Now

Crimson Children Perhaps they have stared too long at an unrelenting sun …..a sky scar …………….…-let burn too long.   Three Kisses Left Waiting on an Old Brick Wall When are you coming back to collect ……..the love that she … Continue reading

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This Much I Know

.. These trees have whispered me their secrets: the way a star cries as it falls, how to coax a snail out of her corkscrew shell. The perfect jigga-jigga motion to simmer a baby to sleep. I keep these things … Continue reading

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Pieces of 8

.. The sky is falling in slivers, the coins in the fountain are few. The fates have gathered their scissors. Oh, won’t you come pilfer your share? All seven seas have grown weary of holding their bright salt at bay. … Continue reading

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14 lines about nothing

.. the breeze is trembling the trees again, the moon chasing herself across the sky. i’ve got a million wishes and not enough stars – can you hold my most recent sigh? give yourself a pat on the back, a … Continue reading

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Imperfect for Mass Plantings

…   . We were crocuses in snow, beholding nothing. Quiet feet drowning in puddles. River toes mocking the stones they skipped. Ill-equipped for silence, we scattered clouds and waited for the hard rain; harbingers of less than spring, and … Continue reading

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That Certain Slant of Sunlight

.. This isn’t about the curtains. (Lacy, fluttering in a lazy afternoon breeze.) Not really. And it’s not about the pale porcelain bowls or the way plain old vanilla ice cream tasted better out of them than at home. It’s … Continue reading

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Once More, Quickly

… I am trying not to tell stories, or at any rate, not this one. I am trying (knot) to write poems, not to tempt fate. No one’s won. I am trying. Not to spill (worry) ’bout the moon’s fury. … Continue reading

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