Thursday, December 5, 2013

can we just rewind

if only
you'd been
a one-night stand,
drenched in wine,
sweat soaked sheets in a peach-dusted dawn

just a hazy recollection of some
lustful, wasted night
where the morning fog
found you gone

Wednesday, December 4, 2013


Well. This was a bust. Fucking Mexico. I tried. Maybe not as hard as I could. I think I picked the wrong city, maybe. I don’t know.

Ohhhh where to next. Houston, eh gross, gag. Seattle. Port Angeles. Japan?

I think this experience completely burned me out on teaching.

For fucks sake, I didn’t even learn Spanish.


17 more days left. I don’t know if I should soak it in, or just sleep a lot so the time passes faster.

Sunday, November 10, 2013

the weight of you (me)

“It’s when someone else’s happiness depends on me- that’s when I find it hard to breathe.”

that’s what she said. that’s what she wrote. that’s what she sang, drenching every note with who gives a fucks and leave me alones.
in the mirror, smearing the fog away, it was hard to lie to herself. the fear of her happiness depending on someone else- that’s what really kept her at bay.

Sunday, October 6, 2013

but we found common ground, in our blood, in our sound

you whispered in the dark
about the things
    that break you

and all I could think
was how
are the things


make me

Saturday, September 28, 2013


burnt dust
seeps through the window,
slides against the curtain,

in la brisa
piano playing fingers
at the finish
de una canćion de amor

car siren wails,
incoherent spanish
drifts up

shadows still paint
the walls,

at 3 am

different room,
same thoughts

just mixed
with hindsight


tequila shots

for reference: let's talk about the weather

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

great expectations

when the glass was full,

i almost expected you
to flick it 
to the ground

and you did
with a twist 

of your wrist

i just didn't expect
to make 

walk on the pieces
barefoot and 

all because i don't need you to breathe

or be

Monday, September 23, 2013

timing (and maybe silver linings)

they flitted around,
like birds

his words

absorbed in
the dance of his hands,

i very nearly missed
the glance


Saturday, September 21, 2013

follow you where?

breathe you in

       c o u g h

you out

            need water
                               in a draught

not second-hand smoke

and fickle stories

       s o u t h

keep your cancer
to yourself

and your lyrics

                         in a box

drown them in drink

            whatever you goddamned need

 i'm not  y o u r s 
                                 to share  a n y m o r e

(following you down was a joke to you and your pocketfuls of smoke; nothing to see, it's all so fucking hazy)

Thursday, September 19, 2013

lest you forget

I'm pregnant. I let the words roll around my mouth, my tongue. It's yours and I'm pregnant. It sounded foreign. Pregnant. I'm pregnant and it's yours. How do you tell an almost stranger that you're carrying their child? I sat in my car, the heater blowing stale air at my face, no tears. The trees were bare, the ground cold, hard. An empty bird's nest sat, half undone, in the crook of a branch. Just sitting. Waiting.

Chiseled jaw line, hooded eyes. He was quiet, secretive. I'd met him at work. Our first date was at a nondescript college bar, one gray, grainy afternoon, only one month prior. Two nights later, we apparently hit the jackpot. Fuck. How did I do this to myself.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, eyes flitting to the rearview mirror. Waiting. His truck pulled into the lot, circled and parked. I was out of my car in an instant, walking across the spaces, dead leaves crunching under my step. He got out and looked up, confused for a second and then his face lit up, a smile spread across, his white, perfect teeth shone.

He crossed the remaining space between us and walked to me, looking at me with an expectant grin. Then he saw my face. And his changed.

What's wrong?

I just looked at him, the words I'd practiced frozen in my throat, not even making it to my tongue. I looked down at the bottle he was carrying. Jack Daniel's. It dawned on me that it was New Year's Eve. I looked up, the air icy against my hot cheeks, chafing, burning.

You're pregnant.

It wasn't a question. It just was. There. It was out. I let my breath out.

I looked at him, stared through him. Nodded.

The crack of his knees on the ground was like a gunshot. That sound told me everything. I turned towards my car, as he kneeled, dumbfounded, in the middle of the parking lot.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

checking in

Just checking in with the land of blog. I've been out of the loop, lately, but I just wanted you who subscribe and read to know that I'm not dead. Lots of overwhelming changes in my life, recently, and I've been slightly uninspired. Just bogged down.

swing of things....get it? get it? i'm funny.
I resigned from my first teaching job and accepted a job in Mexico, sold my house and just about every item in it, save my coffee maker, some mugs, and my clothes. Ok, and some books. I've been a bum, and currently, child and I are camping at my parent's house in Houston, waiting on our visas to come through, so we can get over to Durango. The school year actually started Monday, there, so I will be coming in late, which is daunting. Hopefully, we will be there within the next two weeks.

Hope you all are well. I will try to get back into the swing of things, soon.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

on being five

perched on the stoop,
in his ketchup-stained
batman suit
she shooed him out,
when that man pulled up
in his rusted-red toyoto
pick-up truck

counted ants, and
gingerly placed ritz cracker
crumbs in their path

wiped his nose
with the back of his hand,
lodged tiny missiles
at the cigarette-stuffed
dr. pepper can

stared hard
into the blood-stained sun,
and when it started to fade,
he closed his eyes

to the sounds
those sounds

from inside.

she was supposed to teach him how to tie his shoes today.

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

seeing you

wearied, worn
smoke-thick nights
vaguely familiar chords
like memories,
your whisky-laced memoir
rips through me
like you aren't
the stranger
you are
but when,
the gritty strains
of dawn
the ashen shadows
from the wall,
i can almost see you then,
i can almost see it all

Monday, June 3, 2013

it reminds me

the color yellow,
it reminds me
of the mustard stain
on that old ranger’s shirt
(it eventually became mine)
that time
you caught a foul ball,
cheeks rosy and chaffed
from the wind
we snuck out,
giggling, like teenagers
on a first date
while Bibby was pitching,
to that drafty old ford
that was always out of gas
made it back inside
for the last inning
pretended not to notice
that couple who stared
(a few buttons were missing) 

when it’s almost raining,
but not quite
just a slow trickle,
gaining momentum,
it reminds me
of early mornings,
and your broken coffee pot,
how it would sputter
the grounds would float,
dark, like ants,
when you added cream
and i would turn up my nose,
and drink it black

i would sit in front of your stove
because the heater was broken
and read
while you worked intently
at your math

caught you staring
through the doorway,

i remember how you laughed
and laughed

(and laughed)

Sunday, June 2, 2013

silence is golden

porch whispers
at three in the morning
citronella candle smoke
burns sweetly in my nose
humid nights
and the sound of silence in the air
the reason i can't find the words
isn't because they aren't there
it's just they sometimes get frozen
by the intensity of your stare

the air around you is familiar now

Thursday, May 23, 2013

hot july moon, summer of 99

twisted the warm water
out of my tangled hair
threw my head back,
and giggled at Carrie
as we danced in the spinklers
those sultry, texas nights

our tiny bikinis covered
and nothing

my insides hiccupped
but, still
I pretended he wasn’t cruising by,
cold beer in the back,
one-pump gas-station town
Friday nights

he idled at the corner
and we skipped back inside

he’d be back tomorrow

maybe then,
I’d go for a drive

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

your words, they wreck me

she opens her mouth,
and diamonds fall out
early mornings at
the waffle house

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

brand new information

I've created another blog. Not because I'm deserting this one; the other one is for family and friends, and even former students, to follow Caden and me on our new adventures next year. We are moving to Mexico in August. Just accepted the position last night.  So I created a travel blog to document the whole process. I'm not connecting the two as this one is for more personal stuff, and I can cuss here. Only a few select people who know me in real life read this blog. I'm going to keep other one g-rated. Or try, at least.

Poetry-wise, I have several things to post, but they all need editing, and I haven't had time lately. I will try to post them soon. Miss all you lover-faces.  < ~~ new blog

I wonder if I'll finally be able to tan in Mexico?

Friday, April 26, 2013

the bay

contemplate my toes,
nails painted moonbeam black (are beams black?)
and the tops of my feet,
sunburned, smeared
with aloe grease,
and bits of sand,
grainy against raw skin.
laughter floats up,
answering voice is low,
somber, in drink

soured reek of seaweed,  
cloying in this heat
languishes in the twilight
and my damp,
salt soaked hair
sticks to the side
of my flushed cheeks
idly, i sip  
from a plastic
dixie cup
swish sweet white wine
through my teeth 

air conditioner,
rusted red, time- worn
blows, stale and chilly
hum muffled
by a clouded,
sliding glass door

weak strains
from the clock radio
Otis Redding sighs
in my ear
        I’ve been……. loooving you,
            for soo looong now
shamelessly bleeds
into the lull of the surf,
briny against the craggy,
jagged shore
muted mourning
of the sea gulls
wrenches me
from the inside out
devastatingly beautiful
in its gritty allure

In the summer, I take Caden to the gulf. Galveston Bay. Usually, it’s just the two of us. It’s one of my favorite places to go. I do realize it’s the redheaded stepchild of the beaches, but there’s something so enchanting , so alluring about its grit. The mess of seaweed, twisted, bunched on the beach. The ramshackle, salted wooden houses, wasting away- their ratty, threadbare curtains, a placid, slight movement in the dark windows. There are so many stories to be found, it seems, down each crumbling, broken road,  and each will eventually lead you down to the coarse, rocky beach. We stay at the Commodore. It’s old. Cheap. Brick walls. Faintly stained curtains. Sliding glass doors that don’t latch all the way, so a layer of salt coats the mirrors. I adore that hotel, because every room faces the ocean, and every room has a story.  At night, after little dude falls asleep, buried, underneath sheer sheets, sweaty hands clutched around his worn, cotton stuffed tiger, I step out on the balcony, plant my ass down in the plastic lawn chair, and just breathe.  And think.


Tuesday, April 16, 2013

lets talk about the weather

The weather is bipolar, quite like me, as of late. I’ll drift off, in shorts and a wisp of a tank top, my book, cast aside, sometimes dropping onto my chest, sometimes onto the worn, wooden floor,  the ceiling fan lazily rousing  the humid air, clammy against my warm skin, hair still damp from the shower.  Yet, I’ll wake with goose bumps on my pale, freckled legs, tangled in the sheets, as I apparently tried to pull them tightly around in sleep, against the chill of the early hours.
I wake up at about 3,  every morning. I don’t know why. It’s automatic. My house is old and timeworn; I live in the Texas flatlands, where the winds constantly offend. The sinewy bushes against my windows scrape, back and forth, nails on a chalkboard.  My wind chimes, outside, which sound so charming in the milky light of day, are haunting. I can hear my german shepherd, Sadie Mae, moving around the house, restless. My little one, snoring softy, next to me, sometimes incoherent words, sighs, escaping his dream world, slipping through his sweet lips.

I’ll lay there, in the dark, with my thoughts. Sometimes, I’ll scroll through instagram, though most of my ig friends are on my time, and usually asleep.  But mostly, I just think. I don’t even realize I’ve fallen back asleep until my alarm pulls me back into the world of the living, muted pink hues spreading up the walls, a blush, pushing the shadows away.
In a few months, I’ll be falling asleep in a different bed, in a different city, with different lights casting different shadows around my room. I wonder if I’ll still wake at 3 am.


I’ve some new stuff to put on here, but I have to take some pictures to go with, first. Stay tuned.

Friday, April 5, 2013

watching her melt

-for haley-
he settles in beside her
tucks a wisp of her hair
behind her torn ear
shredded by his prose
splintered letters, words,  pieces
coalesce with wax and blood 
down sallow, freckled cheeks 

he turns her upside down
and holds her, until her face is aflame
observes the wax and blood gather
into a delicate,
heart-shaped mold 

hands, stuffed in his pocket,
he strokes his interminable
supply of matches,
lights the wick
and lets it burn down 

to the quick

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

keep your feet dry

your car is cold
blinking lights blur, bleed
tongue slippery
in drink

my chapped lips betray
fettered words,

sliding, slipping out
collecting, like a puddle
at your feet


the watery light seeps
though the blinds
at dawn

finds them knotted,
tethered back inside,
where they belong

(you stepped over the puddle, anyway)

Thursday, February 21, 2013

not such a prude, after all

silent rush of movement
an agreement
only takes two nods
and a batting of lashes
you met me there
and i didn't have to ask
or answer
in the grainy dawn
fingers bruised from the cold,
hushed walk,
at four
in the morning
left your sheets,

Thursday, February 14, 2013

shred for life

shred for life
So I signed Caden’s death wish and got him a skateboard.  It’s been an interesting couple of weeks.  It was definitely odd when he walked by me and was all, "See ya, Mom, I’m gonna go shred.”
He’s been watching youtube videos and instructional videos of these kid skaters and is telling me the names of all these tricks he’s going to learn. I’ll be glad when he can just stay on his board.  He’s surprised me though, because after a few days, he already seemed fairly comfortable on it. He told me today that he feels “weird” without his gear on, and he wants to “shred for life.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I guess I’m on board. Well. Not literally. I would break my fucking leg. I tried. I fell. He laughed. Shithead.

Day 1
shirt says, "Built to Shred"

this happens, a lot

Getting the hang of things


Tuesday, February 12, 2013

double shower head

slippery, slick arms
pull me from behind
whispered, thick words
in my ear

his urgency burns
my skin,
suffocates the air

but all i can think about
is the soap
burning in my eye

and the water, getting cold

Monday, February 11, 2013


the problem lay
in the lack of trees
it’s airless here,
no ebullient fireflies
only stale words-
wasted vagaries
the fuck is the point
in a blistering breeze?
no dry limbs to caress
no broken bones, skinned knees
so still, it sits
longing for movement
from you?
or me?

pale bruised light in the sky
aujourd' hui

This life is so short. Yet, still, we wait.

au +‎ jour +‎ de +‎ hui; since hui comes from Latin hodie, the phrase literally means "on the day of this day".

sick day

Little dude has strep throat, so he spent the day in bed with movies and Gatorade. I spent the day on my couch pretending to grade papers and do lesson plans. I am extremely lazy.

That is all.

Sunday, February 10, 2013

it's okay, this time (and the next, and the next)

long sleeves and dark glasses

insistent drops
pregnant splashes
on the windshield
she’ll sit here all night
green glow from the dash
bathing her
desolate voices from the radio
butter on the bruises
like ice, but warmer
the keys don’t really matter
maybe some other time,
some other night

(what if she stays?)

Monday, February 4, 2013

my social experiment

I’m shy. Extremely and painfully shy, sometimes, depending on my mood, or how bipolar I’m feeling on the day in question. I don’t like doing anything that draws attention to me; it’s gotten worse the older I get.  Bowling can make me uncomfortable....karaoke would probably make me have a seizure. My social anxiety is stupid, and one of the things that I really, really despise about myself. The people in my life who know me well often forget this about me, because I’m an open book once I trust and know you. And I'm a giant idiot.  But I’m very, very selective about who I let in, and who gets to see me be an idot.

 Being around strangers, though, it makes my fingers go numb. And makes me feel super fucking awkward.  The only medication, I’ve found, to my shyness, is drinking. So when I go out, and have to be social, I feel like I have to drink. I’d much rather spend the evening hanging on my couch, reading a book, writing, or watching Urban Cowboy. Or Labryinth. Or St. Elmo's Fire. Or Space Camp. Ooooh or The Last Starfighter. Or Flight of the Navigator. Sigh. And, while I'm living in the 80's,  I’ll have a glass of wine, sure, but when I’m by myself, it’s just for the taste. Not for the way it affects my personality.

Out at bar. A few drinks in.
Totally friendly.
For the past few years, I dated a guy who worked in a bar. Not a mellow, small bar with live music and dark, hidden tables, but a loud, smoky, stupid, club-type bar. The crappy club music was so loud, you couldn't hear anyone to have a conversation, and everyone was so drunk, it didn't matter what they were saying, anyway. For three years, he worked at this bar, while he was finishing school, and even when he was done with school, he didn’t quit the bar. So I’d go there, a lot, to see him. And while there, I drank. Excessively.

The last few years, it got worse. I would get black out drunk.  It was never on purpose. I just knew I had to start the night off with a drink, so I could talk to people, or I’d have a panic attack. Apparently, I wasn’t allowed to bring my book to the bar and sit in a corner. So, I would tell myself, no more than two, but someone would always pour me a 3rd, 4th, 5th. I barely weighed a 100 lbs., so it didn’t take much.
So anyway, this last year that I’ve been on this period of, I dunno, self-discovery, I’ve had to admit to myself that I am not able to stick to my limits while I’m out. Which also made me take a closer look at why I feel like I have to drink while I’m out. Which ALSO lead me to try to be, um, socially sober, I guess.  You know, go out with some girlfriends and attempt to be friendly without the aid of my liquid courage.
It didn’t work out so well. Apparently, I’m a bitch when I’m sober. Wont go into details,  but one comment directed to a friend about me: "I can see why she's single."
On couch. Sober. Not too friendly.
 But totally myself.


So, in conclusion, I’ve resigned myself to my couch. For the rest of my goddamned life.

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Funny kid shit

Caden is a generally hilarious child. He is far too sarcastic for his own good and quite a little ham. He dances around the house in his underwear and usually has no shame. When he’s around people he’s comfortable with, that is. Around strangers, he hides behind me. Which is  exactly like me.  He is so much like me in personality, which I’m grateful for, because look-wise, he’s exactly like his dad.

Funny things he’s said in the last couple of days:
Child: Mom?
Me: What, kid?
Child: I want to get addicted to something so I can find out what withdrawal feels like.

 What the fuck? I have no idea where he gets this stuff.
The other day, he also nonchalantly told me that he couldn’t wait to go to college so he can eat donuts whenever he wants.
PS- I do not dance around the house in my underwear.


Monday, January 28, 2013

It's just a little bump, no big deal.

The school nurse called me today, and reported that child has a little bump on his head, from having a head on collision with another kiddo. He’s pretty dramatic about, well, anything, so I take his “injuries”with a grain of salt. I was all, he’s fine, he can stay at school.

This is what he looked like when he got over to my classroom this afternoon:



I was all, what the hell, hello concussion?

So this is what he looks like now. He's all tucked away with Bobs, (the tiger), his books, and an ice pack. I gave him tylenol, but I have a feeling it's going to be a rough night.  

I win.

I have to take amusement where and when I can get it, these days. Living with an ex can sometimes make for a not so fun time. So, I take my laughs when I can get em.  For example, there was a small fire on our campu this morning.  Students were evacuated....annnnnd fire trucks went to the wrong campus. Ha.  The first half of my morning was spent rounding up hyper students and trying to keep them quiet and docile in the football stands. At least it was in the upper 60's. It was almost balmy outside;  the air was thick and heavy with the promise of rain. The day is basically awash; too much excitement for middle school kids and they can't focus the rest of the day.

Caden was grounded all weekend. He wrote in permanent marker, all over his piano, "I HATE THIRTY MINUTES" and "I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS" while he was supposed to be practicing. Little shit. He asked me for a year to take piano before I let him do it. I told him if he wants to quit, he has to tell his piano teacher himself....which he will never do, so I win.

My students are working on advertisement projects today. I let them create a station on my Pandora and it basically sucks, so I just switched it to Van Morrison and they haven't noticed it yet. Again, I win. I always win.

Ohhhh I also just bought tickets to see Randy Travis, my hero, in Fort Worth, in March. Today is just an all around win.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

let's go, yo

Going through old boxes, throwing stuff away and packing things for my upcoming move and found this. I wrote this many years ago, when I was a sad, moody gal. The painting in the first part is called "The Blue Nude" and it was painted by Picasso in the early 1900's. It captured my mood then, and sometimes, it captures my mood, now. I have a print on my wall; it's one of the few things I own that made the cut and gets to accompany me on my move. I would love to see the original. I wonder where it is.