Search This Blog

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Algebra II

10 lines 9 beats per

I love it when he speaks, consonants
and vowels bent heavy with a thick
accent that colors every word. My
name comes out it technicolor, and
math is suddenly a spectrum of
musical, meaningless sylables.
They say his English is improving,
which translates to me a getting worse-
why fix something like this, when it was
never a problem in the first place?

My math teacher is from the Dominican Republic. I love his accent.


7 lines 10 beats per

It is after another wonderful
weekend, snow and sledding, dangerous drives,
and moveis. Eyes begin to open wide,
slightly shocked and mostly confused (sometimes
panic). In most cases there is a slow
turn the classmate beside them, asking
in carefully hushed tones, "We had homework?"

I wrote this one after that snow emergency weekend. Totally a true story.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008


There is a part of me that hates her;
the way she walks, talks, does her hair,
even the way that her nose is the same size as mine
and she pulls it off so much better.
There is a small part of me, also,
that longs to be her-
rich, privileged, confident and
beautiful in ways that I will never be,
no matter how much plastic surgery-
which I can't imagine ever being able to afford-
I might receive.
There is something alluring in the way
that she knows she is materialistic and
simply doesn't care.
"After about six months in the US," she says,
"I have to leave the country or else
I'll explode of boredom."
I smile and nod, thinking about [never] saying,
"That's why your eyes are so brown."

In case you've never heard it- "You're so full of poo, you're eyes are turning brown."


6 lines, 10 beats per

Sometimes, I start to think I'm the perfect
weight for myself; then she comes into my
room and tries on all my new clothes, saying
loud, "They look better on me," or, "If you
hadn't stretched this one out so much, I could
wear it." The saddest part is that she's right.

I'm sorry- you can't be a completely normal teenage girl unless you feel inadequate at least once.

Thursday, April 10, 2008


Full title- "There is a Tree in her Soul"

if fingertips were tendrils of sunshine seeking leaves or needles, hair soft blowing in the whispery spring-summer breezes- no need for brushes or combs, head of treetop foliage hair canopy can grow long tall alone, free of telephone wires or salons or hair ties- There wouldn't be any unnaturally tall or strangely short trees, only friends of different genus or species sharing the same space climate zone and CO2- so it would be with me and you, no worry over same interests- soil or sand, your favorite band is out of the question here- So, my dear, the question you posed to me of positioning, feet in the air head in the ground, and the direction of growth- I have found that instead I have been wondering (with sincere curiosity)- if you were a tree upside down, what would you see?


If I spoke figuratively
you understood
universal expansion
manifest destiny
manifesting itself
in some way, inside of me-
acqaintance, friend, better friend,
until I am full of you and your face,
counting the days
until I see you next.
The probability
that you probably
is low, I know-
and though your hand
holds mine,
I cannot push away
the voice in my mind
that says, "He
is only temporary."


18 lines, 6 beats per

I'm not sure if he means
to be disrespectful,
but sometimes I just can't
stand it when he opens
his mouth and says something
stupid. I cannot judge,
I am aware of this.
He does make a lovely
sound, whenever he is
in the mood for singing.
Perhaps he will be the
one in heaven, praising
God with that beautiful
voice, and I will be left
on Earth, shaken by grief,
probably crying,
definitely watching
silent and listening.