Fish Seeks Bicycle
Take me for a spin,
shiny thing,
thing I want most
at this moment:
strong handlebars,
firm seat,
bumpy ride.
I thrill
at the thrum of your gilled grips,
the ching of your charming bell,
the ticking of queens in your spokes.
You make me dream fingers
and rings,
legs to loop around
your lanky frame,
a different way to breathe.
Watch me twitch,
watch me flop,
watch my unblinking eye watch
you whiz by,
the pinwheel whir
the most you've said in weeks.
Watch my mouth open
and close, open
and close,
silent ma ma ma:
Ma, they've got it all wrong.
Ma, I can feel everything.
This poem appeared in print in The Louisville Review and online as an Every Day Poem (email poetry service) via tweekspeakpoetry.com.
shiny thing,
thing I want most
at this moment:
strong handlebars,
firm seat,
bumpy ride.
I thrill
at the thrum of your gilled grips,
the ching of your charming bell,
the ticking of queens in your spokes.
You make me dream fingers
and rings,
legs to loop around
your lanky frame,
a different way to breathe.
Watch me twitch,
watch me flop,
watch my unblinking eye watch
you whiz by,
the pinwheel whir
the most you've said in weeks.
Watch my mouth open
and close, open
and close,
silent ma ma ma:
Ma, they've got it all wrong.
Ma, I can feel everything.
This poem appeared in print in The Louisville Review and online as an Every Day Poem (email poetry service) via tweekspeakpoetry.com.
Hush Candy
Deena moved in next door,
taller, blonder, older than me.
She soon tired
of my five-year-old games -
hopscotch, grocery store -
and forced her own:
rounds of jacks and
say-say-oh-playmate claps
sped up and spun
out of control.
I could never keep up, and
for that, got a litany
of open-palmed thwacks,
my bottom exposed and blushing.
After, Deena rewarded me with Pop Rocks,
left my tongue crackling,
a secret to keep behind the teeth.
Even now, I barely know
the satisfaction she received,
the desire she created
in me.
This poem was published in The Lumberyard Magazine.
taller, blonder, older than me.
She soon tired
of my five-year-old games -
hopscotch, grocery store -
and forced her own:
rounds of jacks and
say-say-oh-playmate claps
sped up and spun
out of control.
I could never keep up, and
for that, got a litany
of open-palmed thwacks,
my bottom exposed and blushing.
After, Deena rewarded me with Pop Rocks,
left my tongue crackling,
a secret to keep behind the teeth.
Even now, I barely know
the satisfaction she received,
the desire she created
in me.
This poem was published in The Lumberyard Magazine.
Swimming Lessons
It was all about holding your breath, we discovered.
Take in oxygen, push it down, down, further still.
You decide when it is released,
one sacred sac at a time,
like fish eggs slipping from imperceptibly parted lips.
This was our thirteenth summer.
We spent less time in the pool, kept our hair dry,
baked our bodies in the unrelenting Kentucky sun.
The swim club's chain link fence cast shadows over us,
rough diamond upon rough diamond,
holding us in, holding us together.
Then the shadows grew longer and loud:
our hoodlum heroes on ten-speed steeds.
These intruders looped long fingers through links,
hips slung, jaws held in practiced slack.
I didn't realize there wouldn't always be boys,
musky and muttering,
hanging on to every word.
My belly's full of eggs, I have sacred sacs to spare.
Push it down, down, further still.
This poem was published in The Heartland Review and received an honorable mention for the Joy Bale Boone Poetry Prize.
Take in oxygen, push it down, down, further still.
You decide when it is released,
one sacred sac at a time,
like fish eggs slipping from imperceptibly parted lips.
This was our thirteenth summer.
We spent less time in the pool, kept our hair dry,
baked our bodies in the unrelenting Kentucky sun.
The swim club's chain link fence cast shadows over us,
rough diamond upon rough diamond,
holding us in, holding us together.
Then the shadows grew longer and loud:
our hoodlum heroes on ten-speed steeds.
These intruders looped long fingers through links,
hips slung, jaws held in practiced slack.
I didn't realize there wouldn't always be boys,
musky and muttering,
hanging on to every word.
My belly's full of eggs, I have sacred sacs to spare.
Push it down, down, further still.
This poem was published in The Heartland Review and received an honorable mention for the Joy Bale Boone Poetry Prize.