poems

You are the tiny person, the cupped hand, and every moon

Linoprint and birthday poem for Em

the sea-wives

«mother doesn’t give a shit.»

geese

once more with feeling:

[bellowing] you do not have to be good

mugwort

do not underestimate
the space i will claim.

my house will have no sign

you will not find it by name or number.

the dance

one day the woman awoke
feeling strange.

Dora

it is not a friendship,
not a business transaction,
not a love affair,
not a baby.

women throwing things into fires

on any given night
whether the moon be bright
and fat
or a shadow of herself

dead rabbit

dora found a rabbit
near the tip

bone stories

oh, i could tell it so many ways.

At last

we are drunk for the first time
in the foothills
of cadair idris
fresh out of school where for five years they called us lemons
and dykes.

a head start

i breathed
with him barely
sipping the pale air

baba yaga’s hut

they come to me for the stupidest things.
/

Untitled (Mother)

sea, ever changing, ever constant.
what do you know about mother?

you cannot know mother.