Letter to my daughter

My epistolary poem, “Miss Amelia Skye” (“Dear Amelia”) was just published in Bella Grace magazine. Amy Krause Rosenthal’s book, Dear Girl, was the inspiration behind the format. I have since created a Mixbook of this poem for my daughter (who will be turning 5 months in a few days); this book will go into a time capsule for her to open at the stroke of midnight in the year 2042 (which will make her 21, if my math is correct). 🙂

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Micropoetry Monday: The Writer’s Life

Writer's Life

The Shutterfly Edition

He was pulp fiction with expletives & explosions,
she, Harlequin Christian romance
with exaltation & exclamations of everlasting love.
They gave their fans what they wanted,
& though their work only endured
till the next author came around,
they made a good side income
freelancing for the local newspaper—
he, covering the grit & gristle of hard news,
& she, the cream & fluff of soft news.

When Comma sailed on a scholarship to Oxford College—
in nothing but a pinafore & saddle shoes—
having unearthed her earthly purpose at Harvard,
she discovered her divine purpose through her thesis on clarity,
& thus became
the Oxford Comma.

They Couldn’t Take it With Them

When Miss Grammarly & Miss Writerly—
2 spinsters who unraveled yarns
& whose punctuation rained
on a mathematician’s parade
like music notes in a sour serenade—
passed on to that great Writing Lab in the sky,
they found that their favorite mark,
the non-committal Semicolon,
had not made it past the mother-of-pearly gates,
for when S.C. had reached the end
of its life sentence,
it hadn’t known whether to pause
or stop altogether,
& so it chose to continue
to haunt English majors
& thus remain,
the bane
of their earthly existence.

Fiction Friday: Poetry Based on the Novel

For she’d rather forsake her child
than face rejection from the father of that child,
even as God had seemingly forsaken His Son
to the world that had rejected Him.
For Tony’s sake,
Kath, being the vessel,
would let the world mark her the sinner
to save the sainted one who had filled that vessel.
She would bear the scars of his sin
in the form of stretch marks
& a giving away of the one whose heart had beaten
in tandem with hers.

Tony had used her to relieve something other than his bladder,
but he was empty,
& he filled Kath with that emptiness,
for what he gave her,
took from her.
I had to believe that he should want to do everything in his power
to protect her & the part of him she carried,
for how could a man create an existence
& not be responsible for that existence—
just as if he had taken a life,
he would be accountable for those that life had left behind.
I believed we should be held accountable for our creations,
just as we were for that which we destroyed,
& when they were one & the same,
such was the most grievous sin of all.

To love a child as a child of God was one thing,
but to love a child as one’s grandchild—
to be included in the inner circle
of the second most sacred space,
to add them to their list of descendants
& will them an inheritance from their ancestors—
was something else.

Logline for Because of Mindy Wiley An Irish-Catholic girl coming of age in the Deep South during the New Millennium finds her family splintered when two Mormon missionaries come to her door, their presence and promise unearthing long-buried family secrets, which lead to her excommunication and exile.

Micropoetry Monday: The Lighter Side

The Lighter Side

Tippi was a blond out of the bottle,
Dagny, a blond with brunette roots.
When they decided to fleece a couple of black sheep,
these fun girls realized that
with a drop of a hanky
& just the promise of panky,
blondes may have had more fun,
but brunettes got away with it.

He was all that was wrong with men
when it came to women,
for he felt entitled to take
whatever one he wanted,
only for Bubba Edmonds in Cell #9
to feel even more entitled to pick him
as his newest Turkish delight.

When Comb met Brush,
they encountered a hairy situation,
making Brush bristle
& Comb lose all her teeth.

Micropoetry Monday: Children of the Blue and the Gray

Children of the Blue and the Gray

The Shutterfly edition

Her lawyer read over every email,
every contract,
& every employee handbook,
looking for loopholes she could fall through.
When she found the humdinger of them all,
slipping through it like a cheaply-wrapped stick of hot butter,
she spent her way through America,
redistributing her wealth by patronizing restaurants
so that all her fat was not redistributed but freshly-distributed
in what was now known as “Corporation Up Front.”

He practiced law
but didn’t follow it.
She practiced Christianity
but didn’t preach it.
They practiced medicine
but wouldn’t take it.
When they found each other,
they found the one thing
they could take—
each other’s inability
to do themselves
what they told others
to do.

He was a playboy,
she, a working girl.
Though they were in the biz,
they were also camera shy,
but what they believed
would be their undoing
would have been their alibi.

Her Own Lifetime

Time was money:
Hours were dollars,
minutes were cents,
but there were no firsts
before seconds were gone
forever.
Dr. Samantha Beckett,
idealist extraordinaire,
traveled through time to the future
at the same rate as everyone else.
Though she could not change anyone’s history,
she built the history her children would remember—
changing their futures for the better.
And so,
Dr. Beckett,
having not leaped abruptly from life to life,
but stepped seamlessly
from one stage of hers into another,
learned that human beings fought time
but never won,
for time was an uncountable noun
that had no meaning except that
which people gave it.