Another Year of Sonnets #2 — I may yet fall in love again; another song may yet begin, a hopeful chorus, lilting verse or I may yet welcome the hearse that comes to carry me away to what may come. I cannot say that optimism is the right perspective for the coming fight. Behold the year…

Another Year of Sonnets? #1 — I wouldn’t say the year is kindly come; it sits, a burden on a heavy heart that dreams of sleep–or, else, of being numb anticipating all the grief that starts accumulating, pebbles in a storm become an avalanche, erasing light, erasing light and heat. Nobody’s warm or left with strength enough to care or fight…

My mom’s dog is a sweetheart — until I try to stand up. — Last month, I moved back to my Mom’s place in Southern California. It’s been quite the transition (especially going back to the 100-degree heat, which has actually been kind of refreshing) but for the most part, it’s been smooth. With one outstanding exception. Say hello to Daisy.

I can’t spin my weight into something good or lovable. — I am a fat person. Over the years, my mom’s told stories about how, at my earliest checkups, around 12 months old, the doctors were worried that she was overfeeding me because, guess what, I was overweight. But, despite that not being the case, I was fat. I still remember…

Traditional publishing drives me kinda batty. — I have been working on my current book for a long, long time. Too long, by any reasonable standard. One of the most basic pieces of advice that people will give to new and aspiring writers is that they have to finish things, then let go of them. I’ve given…

How do you live inside a space that isn’t yours? — A certain weariness of being. I’ve had a strange relationship with my body for a long time. But as the years go on, the worse it gets. I wonder how it is for other people. For a long time, my body has always felt like a thing I possess, rather than an intrinsic part of…

a sonnet — This love is not a cage. She holds her hand aloft and all the universe, aglow, unveils itself, a dormant rose from sand begins to blossom, flawless. Oh, you know I couldn’t trust my heart. It wore me down with promises, so crass and bittersweet I couldn’t trust my lips or tongue–and now I echo back so…

a poem — “the only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive.” — john green, looking for alaska i/ i have crawled on hands and knees in the long darkness shards of glass embedded in concrete make for pretty light (when the light comes) but leave a number of jagged wounds…

a sonnet — it’s not enough to pray for light to break through leaden windows dark with dirt and grief, nor can we ask the universe to fake some light until we muster the belief we should have always had. the grace of stars is not diminished by the tired eyes of humankind who see in skinny bars, ignoring the…