M has served as an Associate Poetry Editor for Stirring: A Literary Collection for the past one hundred years or so. Her work has appeared in a variety of online journals -- Pedestal, Word Riot, The Dirty Napkin, Prick of the Spindle, Babelfruit, Juked, The Rose & Thorn, and others. She also serves as an Administrator of on online poetry workshop called Wild Poetry Forum. She is currently working on a poetry manuscript that focuses on the mid-twentieth-century Italian immigrant experience. In the few seconds a month when she is not working on these projects, she reads mostly novels, walks along Portland’s bustling city streets with her man, and is grateful for the enormous amount of love in her life.
Two women in the garden of the ward
This is new. Yesterday you camped
in the refrigerator, the morning
before, slithered under the toy box
like a Coral snake making Betsy late
and me crazy. You hang on too long
after the bite.
You and her Chatty Kathy doll
are in cahoots. You have the sense
to be quiet, but you yank Chatty’s cord.
She jabbers at me unabated
about schoolmates and Barbie dolls,
ballet classes and .
Your grommets remind me of ties
that bind – shoelaces, clinging vines,
apron strings. Another mother in Baltimore
glides into her children’s room at night,
suspires for the rise and fall of small chests
like billowed sails in Chesapeake Bay.
They breathe, she breathes easier.
I slump in the kitchen, swallow another slice
of birthday cake, use eight tiny candles
as bayonets to stab Betsy’s uneaten lasagna.
How do you feel when you’re on
the wrong feet? You stick out your tongue;
I mash you into the frosting.
Outside the window, the postman places
a letter in our box, reconsiders, removes it.
Wrong address, recipient moved, change
of heart. Some awry deliveries rectified,
some scribbled in indelible ink.
(Featured in Pedestal, Issue 30, Oct – Dec 2005)
© 2009 M
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