Oh, dear woman!

Oh, dear woman!
Oh, dear woman! You want to heal the world But your soul is broken Its splinters glowing in the moonlight No one brave enough to touch You want to love But your heart is saturated With the callousness the world flung at you The temptress of original sin You want to birth

HER

HER
She births The great and the down-trodden From her womb flows rejection and the world’s second chance The blood thrusts its way out to say – not today And gently trickles away in resignation – Or consolation, or admiration? Her temple She hosts the ghosts of generations of mutations Of cancers, anxieties

A Way With Words

A Way With Words
They said I have a way with words, I told them words were the only thing That gave me a way to have. They asked what’s the story behind the poem, I told them the poem – IS the story. They wondered how it came so easily, I thought how absurd it

A Woman’s Body

A Woman’s Body
The symbol Of the world’s incompleteness Her bleeding, the shedding of sin The corridor to humanity’s survival As vital as the sun itself to life The life she gives by what is besought from her The life she takes by what is laden in her The constant exaggeration When she coils herself

Home

Home
Home, Where the stove was warm, the winter cold; mother Russia. The road with longevity and the way in, simpler, Just by the walnut tree, a green wooden gate, The size of a door and in need of a new coat of paint. Babushka would be baking piroshki, we’d sit together and