personal travails kept me awake at 3 am a IKEA hammer resting at my crouch I want to take apart my childhood bed where the abuse happened   a distant

And as the rocks melt on this soup skin,   in this pot left on simmer for a few million years,   these memories push up through the soft spots.     And

(after Beau Taplin) I am here to tell you what your mother can’t: Your body is not a temple. You are not some fragile thing that crumbles. You will not

Poetry Prompts Look up fifty-five of your favorite poems and use the third letter of the fourth word in every second line to write a sestina about loss. Make sure

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