Crime Story

624 Thesselonia Avenue
10:51 a.m., March 25

What have we got here?

Boys on the way to school found her.
They touch the body, move anything?
Nah, they were so scared they took off running.

Got an ID? Got any identifying marks?
Nope, dress has no pockets, probably just a tart.
Or a goddess, Lenny, you know it’s hard
To tell ‘em apart on the road in the dark.

Dun. Dun. Continue reading

The Return: Psyche & Eros

When I return to you, I will remember
My life before the mountain. I will soak
The western wind, the dark musky nights,
The fall, the trials, and those who played
A part all together in the river
Behind our house where I spent
Those days you were not real to me.
I will never pull them out,
Never clip them to a line to dry,
Never fold and put them away. Continue reading

Sticks and Stones

I learned yesterday that I am a finalist in this competition. Here is the poem I sent in. I will be sending the rest of the manuscript now.

She was reminded of the aphorisms from childhood:
“This is for your own good” and also,
“This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.”

He never wanted to spurn her. There was something
Uncontrollable in him, a world of the parent
That enabled him to decide that making his world
Disappear from her was for her own good.
He let her grip on his thighs slide down
To his knees and then to his calves and then
She fell to earth as he continued to fly.
He was so sure he was hurting more.

Continue reading