A very acceptable ratio of trash to treasure.

  • Red

    What’s your definition of romantic?

    Note: I wanted to write something romantic but this happened instead. A moment from before with someone I’d rather forget.

     

    The scent of red wine
    curls sharply in my nostrils

    I take it in;
    the sickening liquid,
    spills down my throat
    as if it might make you
    palatable.

    You still taste corrosive,
    all tannins
    and teeth.

    I wish you could
    just hold me,
    touch my cheek,
    say something soft.

    But the bitterness lingers
    hot and cruel
    on my tongue.

    I press the edge of the glass
    against my lips
    it feels as cold
    as your kiss

    And all I can do
    is swallow

  • Becoming Still

    I surrender beneath the stars,
    wrapped in a blanket
    of silver moonlight.

    Everything I was has faded
    in the welcoming silence.
    There is no more ache or longing —
    just the soft whisper
    of the breeze against my skin.

    I sink, breath held quiet
    into the soil.

    The roots entwine my bones
    soothing me to sleep
    like a lullaby in the darkness,
    as delicate decay
    consumes me.

    I do not move;
    there is no need to.

    The stillness cradles me
    as if it knows my name.

  • Inheritance

    What are you most worried about for the future?

    They already sit on high thrones
    chewing the bones
    of those who built their castles

    Kings crushing flesh
    beneath their feet
    guzzling blood they’ve drawn
    from a stone.

    And I fear what will remain
    when they are finished –

    When the Earth grows dark
    the waters dry
    the soil no longer yields harvest
    and our children inherit
    what we allowed them to break

  • Lullaby to the Seeds

    I feel the soil beneath my feet –
    soft,
    yielding,
    warm.

    And I walk,
    whispering a lullaby
    to the seeds that sleep soundly
    in the dark, damp earth,
    dreaming of reaching toward the sun
    that anoints my skin with gold.

    I press my palm to the ground —
    the Earth breathes
    against my fingertips.

    The scent of mushrooms and rain
    lingers in my nostrils
    like a strange perfume –
    comforting,
    familiar.

    Everything here feels
    patient,
    and kind.

    I let the silence
    fill me up.

    I close my eyes.

  • Where the Earth Holds Me

    I need to rest
    beneath the sheltering branches
    of willows weeping —
    their shadows reaching like fingers
    across the surface of my skin,
    as moss grows in my bones.

    Please, let me close my eyes
    where the earth holds me gently
    and weathered maple trees
    paint me in soft, dappled sunlight.

  • Care and coffee

    What are your daily habits?

    Every morning I open my eyes.

    And depending on who’s watching that’s either a triumph or a disappointment.

    I lie there for a while waiting for something to matter enough to move. Typically it’s needy cats begging for food, or my addiction to coffee that finally gets me to my feet.

    I shuffle to the dresser and fumble around for some clothes: my usual black tank top, jeans, a bra that makes my boobs look good, cotton underwear. Then to the bathroom to brush my teeth and make a half-hearted attempt at personal hygiene.

    I make my way to the kitchen and start the morning routine: Feed the cats. Make coffee. Check on the rat and give her a cuddle because she deserves it more than some people I know.

    Then outside to toss the chickens their breakfast and a kind word or two. I water the garden, harvest what’s ready, and eagerly check for fruit growing on the vines.

    Then I sit, finally drinking that coffee I so desperately needed when I rolled out of bed.

    Soon my family will wake up, still sleepy eyed but filled with stories and dreams and plans for the day.

    It doesn’t sound like much, really, but these thin threads are the things that hold me together. Care and coffee.

  • Reflex

    Images of broken bodies
    On my phone screen
    Flash between videos
    Of political commentary and cute cats.
    I see children
    Starving –
    Their skin draped
    Over their bones
    Like shrouds
    Then recipes
    And Reddit stories
    Read by robots.

    I double tap
    The cartoon heart
    Pollutes the screen’s glow.
    It’s reflex but not
    Reverence
    A comment to push
    The vilest of human failures
    to the algorithm.

  • decadent

    What’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever eaten?

    If you asked me the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted, I would say your mouth. The softness of your lips, the slip of your tongue teasing past my teeth – nothing else is as decadent or as sweet.

    Not summer strawberries, warm from the sun,
    or dark melted chocolate.

    You taste like warmth.
    Like something distinctly mine.

    And I swallow that sweetness …

    Greedy and aching

    As if I had been starving for it.

  • soft cotton and worn leather

    If you were forced to wear one outfit over and over again, what would it be?

    I already have a uniform.

    It rarely changes.

    A tank top – soft cotton that clings in the right places.

    Jeans that have just enough give to move when I do.

    A hoodie slung low on my hips.

    And boots –

    Worn and black

    With memories scratched into the surface of the leather.

  • ritual.

    How do you practice self-care?

    I pour the coffee into my mug.

    The milk swirls in the dark, making foggy shapes before the two liquids combine into something that looks like caramel.

    I have time for coffee

    It’s something I’m allowed

    Even as the day presses down on me –
    oppressive as the summer heat –

    I have this moment.