Just a short ode to this week. Despite five days of interruptions too deep to name, despite literal interruptions of requests for my time, despite my paper thing psyche, I wrote something, even today. When i get on my yoga…

A tyrant’s business is to control bodies, a poet’s calling is to free souls. Anything that smacks of freedom is pure anathema to the crazed and focused industry of the dedicated tyrant because whereas a human body can be stilled…

Tryouts! Wanted: A female singer for a radio commercial. This is a paid job. The announcment boomed out over the loudspeaker of my high school daily bulletin.Those interested in applying, may contact Mister Smith, Principal. Two students applied. Cassandra Martinez…

“Tyrants fear the poet.” That’s what I should have said to him, my first husband. Even those words, “first husband,” sound made-up, slanderous really, smug and stupid. There was more than one? How many? To dismiss all that readily, the…

There’s a poem in this place, if only I could find it I wrote it once and put it aside, in doubt. I hope it wasn’t thrown away by accident Or if on purpose-- I’d give him such a clout…

Hi Bonnie - I am probably going to be late with feedback and writing tomorrow. I have to go out of town for a family emergency. You've been such a wonderful partner! Love the story. I was driving with my…

[not fiction] There was a poem wherever I looked. The crashing waves, the dive bombing pelican, the wobbly lambies taking their first steps, rancher's son setting his own line of fence post. I have left this land of poetry in…

“It is I you are looking for.” I’ll cut the uppity tone-“It is I…” Who talks like that? Although there are days when I am astonished that no one seems to see how wonderful I am. And that feels a…

Once you embrace the possibility That a place- any place- is poetry, The world bursts open Like God's perfectly ripe plum, Juice sweet, slightly bitter the way Life itself is, And infinitely entertaining. The living room becomes more than a…

There's a poem in this place, a talk-to-me- like you mean-it poem, a poem like thorns on a rose, a poem like a gun, like a bumblebee, like a wicked-sharp knife, like a hammer, a poem that slaps my face,…

I heard a joke this morning on television. A comedian, John Mulaney was talking about his ancestors, from Ireland. He described one of them, a great-grandmother I think, who lived in the tiny village of X. He said she was…