Seaman
Your voice is like the sea’s after a terrible storm lapping at my dunes churning forth this image comes crashing like a tidal wave engulfing me your invisible undertow’s got me by my legs, waist, my...
View ArticleWound
You laid into me like an iron hot and pressing against my bare opening. Tracy Strauss‘s poetry earned the 2005 Somerville Arts Council Literary Fellowship and has been published in The Hummingbird...
View ArticleThe Day I Knew
There are those who say they want it all back. If they could just re-do it all again; forget they ever met. But I don’t want it all back. I’m willing to surrender, give in to the feeling that I can...
View ArticleCloudburst of Souls
The curds and whey clouds are stacked like cotton wool, orderly and regular. “Don’t cry. That’s what happens when the good and the young die”. “Orderly cotton wool clouds form only when the best or the...
View ArticleMeasure of Love
In the instant you collapsed, I knew you’d left me, but your heart kept pumping, lungs struggling for breath, body flat out, length six feet one, weight a hundred and thirty-five pounds. In the...
View ArticleGrocery Shopping
I wrench a cart from the stack where they nestle like spoons, and take the route I’ve always taken— up the main aisle, one-eighty degree turn, down the next. Skip the eggs (I still have half a dozen in...
View ArticleThe Hit
It was St. Patrick’s Day, a drinking holiday in the city. When the city drank, I drank. But since I’m Filipina, instead of drinking to the luck of the Irish, I drink to the luck of the Asian at...
View ArticleUprooted
I remember when sleep and rest were synonymous and I awoke each morning, or early afternoon, feeling like a freshly-watered plant with my shoots yawning toward the sun. But you strolled by, saw...
View ArticleThe ER
I’m sitting on a gurney in the emergency room. I’ve lost count of how many visits this makes. A flimsy cotton gown is wrapped around me, I feel the chill from the opening at the back and I shiver. The...
View ArticleRichochet
“Life is a crap shoot that can turn out crap,” old Snake Eyes once told me. “The only guarantee is there are no guarantees.” He scratched his scarred temple, “Pot shots,” he said, “pot shots— you never...
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