top of page

Poem #4


I felt a pinch in my palm: a rosebud sprouted from my life line.

Its sepals clung together like a trembling suit of armor. I understood; my palm was unfamiliar soil. I fed it

drops of sunlight, sang it to sleep, and every day drank a glass of water to keep it hydrated.

I found a book on the rearing of palm roses, which advised living one-handed, a spoonful of honey, and lots of spinach; instead of the organic stuff, I took iron tablets. I was no Popeye, but still

the rosebud bloomed. A ripe, lemon yellow, and its beauty drew a crowd. I stood offstage, left arm extended under the light, bearing the lactic acid burn.


1 view0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Poem #33

Striped I fell from a dock in the summer, split my hand open like a ripened fig, blood drip-dropping to ruddy the waves while I gulped down salty red, I swam to shore, hand raised above my head, looki

Life Update: The Big One

This year has already been so busy. Marriage. Grad School. Research Project. Promotion. And now, at last, I can put my dream on that list: Novel Publication. That’s right, ladies and gentlethems, my n


bottom of page