Poetry Sunday — I see hope in raindrops and budding trees in yellow daffodils and puffy white clouds I hold hope’s hand as I walk to the park with my grandson I hear hope in laughter as my fingers trace the soft cheek of my new granddaughter I taste hope in a meal prepared…

a Poem for My Dad — I painted my fingernails pink for you in my heart I knew that somehow, you’d know I’d get a manicure you’ve drifted away and now my hands with their pink polished nails are clutching at threads threads of memories father and daughter threads of tender moments joy and laughter threads of love…

and the Perfect Mojito — He casually stepped behind the bar and after a quick glance to get familiar, mixed himself a drink. She was intrigued at how effortlessly he filled the tumbler with ice, making himself a 7 & 7 with ease. She made her way across the room as if she were a…

Lock and Key — You. Keep the key. Close. Prepared to open. The lock. At a moment’s. Notice. You. Gloat over. Grievances. You’ve. Secreted away. And. Frequently regurgitate. What’s been. Crammed. Into. Your tight. And. Airless. Drawer of judgments. Hate. Malice and. Loathing. Neatly stacked. To be. Easily retrieved. And. Held. High. Poised. Like…

Bitter Comfort — The blanket clutched tight, pulled up chin high. Her clenched hands frozen, unwilling to loosen their grip. Beautiful, petrified wood. Drawn up a little more, touching her bottom lip. Straight teeth gnaw, like a rat, at the border. The old blanket tastes of jealousy, loathing, and contempt. Deep satisfaction. Another…

A first date — we ate pizza it was strange that he had the same first name as my former fiancé who’d tearfully revealed two months earlier that he didn’t love me anymore I was only nineteen too young anyway warm pepperoni grease slid down my little finger and past the pointy bone of my wrist…

A Weird Vision — like daggers thrown at a carnival sideshow hands fly off the clock piercing the air the hour hand zings impaling my favorite high school art project turning the calligraphied “let’s get freaky” to gibberish crumpled on the floor the minute hand lies defeated its tip bent at an odd angle …