Category: Poetry

Bio

I am the smallest red hen hoping to outrun the mistress of the house. I am a forgotten sachet, crumbling lavender at the bottom of a lingerie drawer. I am a hollow tree.  Is there a yellow jacket nest inside or only a quiet place to rest? And, like a patient tiger, I am becoming.…

This Road

Nothing can match the newness of this road. It gleams with a hazy sheen and stinks of tar. I expect to hear workmen opening their lunch pails nearby. What will happen once they are gone? Will I be able to find my words? I only have two hands And one over-burdened, broken heart.   Like…