Prose poem: Smells Like Winning

In the winter of 2018-19, I walked by a cemetery and crematorium to catch my bus.  Dragging my knuckles home after an unsatisfying day, uphill no less, pass the body markers of others, and the rush of evening traffic. —These are moments poets DREAM of!  I am thankful for the times we walk among metaphors.Continue reading “Prose poem: Smells Like Winning”

Poem: Bus Girl

Bus Girl She looks in the glass again to check if the image has changed New headphones, new hair She’s still the same LOOK Eyeliner of lines drawn in the sand Streaks of blonde scream in her hair Lips moist with gloss, pink as a newborn LOOK, again Everything’s the same. She smiles.