She bartered over dinner
and
received more than she bargained for
flashpoetry
Nearly vintage
She walked by, vintage jacket
clinging lovingly to her shoulders.
I nearly stepped in a puddle –
I once owned the same one.
On The Awakening
When she awoke – truly and deeply
woke from the sleep induced by testosterone,
drugged with masculinity, weighed down
by society’s down comforter – she looked
to the future as her own. Liberated,
she was called many names. Her favorite dirty
word was feminist, though she would be called
much worse. The word that stuck was independent,
married as it was to happiness, sealed with a kiss,
they lived happily ever after.
Tanka #1
The clock prefers a
polite tree, stretching over
time, one more ring with
each revolution,
marked for the trouble.
From the water
She called to me from the ocean,
hand stretching above calm waters
that blended with the sky, shades of blue
and specks of white cascading beyond
that hand, frozen in a moment we shared.
Or maybe she merely wanted
to touch the sky and turned upside-down
with no thought of me.
