life
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sylvia’s hair
Her hair in a box decapitated like her thumb top was what memories does that hair hold? Sunny days in the water off Nauset perhaps and sharks washing up in yards after hurricanes or that toe big as a Frisco seal? This cut is a bloodless beheading and I stare in fascination a member of… Continue reading
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night
I clean my face at night my mother calls it taking off the day. I can clean my face, but I have seen too much that cannot be washed away I wonder what it is all for, the fear, the smell of dread, the infighting and I wonder if things will be different in the… Continue reading
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Atropos dreams
I dreamed about a dead poets son who self annihilated I took an elevator that went to nowhere and stopped between floors. He was darkly handsome His smile comfortably intimate, as if this weren’t death we were living in as if his life had never happened. I becamelost in his studio, scattered with the detritus… Continue reading
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I am wasting time. Flat out sick the last week contemplating my life for now I’m forced to. There is nothing to distract me from it now. I have friends who are not friends but opportunists, and there will never be anything else with them except for what we can mutually take from one another.… Continue reading
About Me
poet, diarist, writer, teacher, woman, fragile, strong, northern life is my domicile, my barbaric yawp exudes against the tide
Diary of an American 