The wick

Shattered on the roof
a candle softens the shards
so it’s possible to place them
into posable figurines

She likes the idea
of molding choas
into a soft ball and
shaping impossibly dense
human bodies

Decides to hurd them
into empty armies
helpless with their heads
so full, she smiles

until the wick times out
and Kaboom!
the world is blown apart
with the dark and her hands
shattered up here
on the roof


Still it Shines

quiet confident
impossible permission
to change like rubber
busted with a key or a
spindle left to unravel
reveals a simple middle
still it shines

campfire bench
breaths joy in
funny things in
hair holding misery
when life hurls vomit bombs
at our family

learns to bike
likes it even as the
frame is hurled in anger
goes off map
in watchful abandon
to win laughter

is our love

At the Spa

In a bathtub with the world
less relaxed as I track detached skin
attached to a long dark hair
grey at the root after it collides
an unapologetic bump into my slick bare thigh

Ruffles are smoothed as a flutes echoes through
the artificial falls tempest roar
a glance through the skylight brings a castle
and a stranger in the window watching us
watch each other

winter bodies undressed winter minds
shocked flaccid skin repels
glazed direct stares passive agressive
hunt for used lounge chairs

free fruit, tea and cucumber water
compliment the sour patch kids
hidden in my purse.

It kinda sucks and it could be worse

#thoughtsfromthespa #localsdiscount #icantreallyaffordthis #duh


I go to sleep
guilt free
every single time
I turn out the light
Unaware of the
Impending eruption

Every time
I’m shaken awake
By guilty self-inflicted aftershocks memories
of money spent, booze drank, words said, or unsaid
drenched in shame left to question
Why am I more completely
Myself at 4am?

What if 4am me
Was always awake?
I wouldn’t have bought
That seven dollar juice
For my kids or those
Pink socks which promised
To make me a better runner.

4am me would never have
Drank that last glass of wine
Aware it would erase the rest
Of the night And
She would always know
The right thing to say
especially to that guy I
should have told
To fuck off.

It all seems so obvious
When I’m 4am me.



Billie Holiday and Bourbon
Sipped as I sway gently

in rhythm with
my knife find
peace everytime
I cook it’s for love.

Carefully chopped
elegant onions
sautéed until
clear like magic.
this moment
the only one
that’s perfect
to add garlic
till it’s fragrant
Splash bourbon for love.

Streched lips
break free into song
Slam into unforgiving
meat makes tender love.

I am all there is
in this kitchen
All this enchanted
bounty has
is me
and I am whole love.

Add more
This is a dance
I will choreograph forever.

Let’s Talk

This Creature lived
all alone
survived off its own
violence and pain
the cocoon it built had
chilled it to the bone
but their was only
the selfish self to blame.

In the age of
painful decision she had none
she was bound
by the doomed fate of
her own vision.

Begged for forgiveness
her nose to the ground
“lift your face you worthless
fucking bitch” the mind
freaked out to the shorted
out brain.

Brain whispered back ‘you hold
all the cards and I’m scarred and
I’m maimed and you’re to blame.”

Minds said “I hate you
you fucker, you’re
already dead”

“Hate, my friend, hate what
you aren’t willing to change”
brain said.

This poem is in solidarity with all of my amazingly brave friends who have posted their truth for Bell #letstalk. I wrote this while I cut and burned myself, I believed I was worthless. There is literally a mark where I “stamped” in blood and circled in blue pen a promise to myself I’d never (!) do that again. I was 19, but I can still be lost in bad thoughts…..I don’t intentionally cut or burn anymore, but I do work in a kitchen where these things happen and I don’t mind too much. A physical scar to acknowledge my mortality, blah,blah, blah…….My husband said it best when we first met in 1998 when he told me in his big french accent that I wasn’t only hurting myself, I’ve kept his words, and him, close to me.