Previously Published on Aphelion . . .

I Dream of Rings

of gold, blazing

atmospheric anomalies calling

me.  Saturn’s embrace,

waiting to welcome me to their fold.

There I dance, uninhibited

by the laws of physics, and therefore,

the physical necessities of life support.

I am my own

momentarily alien self, skimming

solar systems with a flip

of my hair . . . Flash forward

fifty light years.  I am queen

of a recently discovered star,

a purple-skinned princess

touched by a sun

on both shoulders, breathing

fire to keep the scales

of my settlement’s sentient beings warm.

(https://www.aphelion-webzine.com/)

Previously Published on Ann Arbor Review . . .

800

gumballs lived in a glass container

on the front counter of the little corner

store in the small Western Pennsylvanian

town I grew up in for years.  Don’t ask

me how I know there were 800, I just do.

I am as sure of that number as I am

of my name.

These gumballs were not for sale, not part

of some promotional contest.  They were

just sitting there for show, a useless colorful

display that plagued my childhood.  My still-

developing mind could not make sense of all

that waste, all those wonderful, unchewed

gumballs collecting dust.

I stared at them for years, from all angles

as I grew.  I waited for their great mystery

to be revealed.  But the store was sold, torn down,

replaced with a slick new 7-11.  Everyone rejoiced

at the improved convenience, the always (over) stocked

shelves. 

I resented the fancy neon sign and its clutter-less

counters.  They mocked me, along with the ghost

of that gumball-filled jar, its absence laughing

from my memory.

(http://annarborreview.net/)

Previously Published on Ann Arbor Review . . .

With Alligators

waiting on every embankment, jaws

posed in carnivorous smile, all eyes and instincts

follow me as I wade into the water. 

White robes rebel, refuse to hold

their breath, choose instead to spread about

me, petals to my stem.  Rooted among waveless tide,

I bloom.  Stoic queen scenting sacrificial call.

Waiting for selection, acceptance, and the whisper

of my cold-blooded king breaking the surface

of this sound.

(http://annarborreview.net/)

Previously Published on Annapurna Magazine . . .

With Killer

pickles hiding

behind every shadow, my heart

burns for a spear.  To slice

or not to slice?  Such a question

is too loaded for a single piece.  The buns

in front of me are average

at best, sedentary, stuck in stale postures

of enticement.  Open sesame!  I chant

in my mind.  Nothing

happens.  I toss a dash of salt over

my shoulder for luck before I move

on.

(https://annapurnamagazine.com/about-2/)

Previously Published on Annapurna Magazine . . .

Seeing Naked

pizza in my box infuriates me,

especially when I know I ordered it

dressed in mushrooms and pepperoni.  Pieces

of various food groups strategically placed

to balance my meal.  Instead,

bland expanse of cheese stares back,

a boring plane of white.  My teeth are

hesitant to bite.

(https://annapurnamagazine.com/about-2/)

Previously Published on Amulet . . .

The Edges of Matter

I want to be

more

than this ghost of myself.

I want to wander

beyond your eyes.

I want to open doors and windows

in your brain.

I want to fee you

every version of sun.

Every shadow of rain.

You need to see the colors.

To be.

But I am blind.

So I need you

to believe.

In the life

of my fist.

(https://sites.google.com/site/conceitmagazine/)

Previously Published on Amulet . . .

Gypsy Soul

Her favorite boots

matched her skirt.

Or what was left of it.

After she parted

with scarf after scarf.

For fun.

And funds.

To buy the twin coins

standing guard

at her breast.

(https://sites.google.com/site/conceitmagazine/)