girl hunched over
reading by the light
of the setting sun

no radio
me and mom finally
talk

history exam essay
blinking cursor
on the screen

the porch swing
still rocks
with out you.

welcome committee
squealing black lab
brings me his favorite toy

calling
to hear your voice:
busy signal.

to be a kid again
pleading mom to buy
the pumpkin sippy cup

four-year old
fills in my zen painting
with every color

getting back to school
only to list
the things I forgot

wordlessly
she hands him
the pills

temper tantrum
staining the car seat
my mascara

drunken proposal
gas station attendant
rings up the rose

pink blankie
covers my stomach
where her arm should be

she drags along
the old warty pumpkin
whining to her mother

father daughter date
we both hum along
in different keys

early Saturday morning
no feet patter
on our wood floors

a tear forms,
she knows
I'm leaving again

quiet drive
I fiddle
with the radio

family lunch
grandmother calmly announces
I’m not marriage material

grandma fusses
over my messy locks,
her brand of love

playground swing
getting ready to push but
she’s doing it!

innocently,
an old friend
asks about my mother

blank mind
full of thoughts,
nothingness.

only one side
of the king-sized bed is unmade:
dad’s side

black mirror
my mother's face
ripples away

gently-placed corpse
anxious cat eyes
await my approval

homecoming—
I think my bed
looks smaller

overhearing at night
the private conversations
of trains

once loved,
twice bitten,
a scarf for the neck

the starlit lake
drowning out
my worries

he holds her back...
the only love
she counted on

family dinner
my nephew turns to ask
who are you?

my family dinner table
one plate short
this Fall

smoking with the family
at the kitchen table
where I grew up

wet hair
the smell of baked apples
from the kitchen

 
animalhaireverywherethesting

crimson leaves fall,
he packs away
the unused crib

every sunday
she sees her son
through glass

after the doctor visit
she gives her favorite ring
to me

coexisting
the same moon
above our heads

on the road—
where I'll be
when I'm thirty

rowdy dinner conversation
the head of our family
is silent