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Moving On
Rhythmic Poetry-For Poetry Workshop Class. “Moving On” 1-29-02 Cobblestones near the wood-stove Were often houses and roads For the sisters’ matchbox cars During stormy summer nights When their game was make-believe. They made elevators of Sheets for stuffed dogs and dolls on Stairs where little sister’s head Got caught in the banisters. Momma’s butter stopped her tears. The circle driveway became Never ending when their bikes Were not locked in the garage. Traffic accidents ended Then with only bleeding knees. Three sisters help pack boxes. They can’t pack the cobblestones, Or the staircase where they played. But nothing is forgotten, Because all homes have old dreams. I was always grateful…
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Too Much
My first publication and also my first time writing from a male point of view. I wrote this short story when I was in college for a Fiction Workshop. I made a lot of revisions based on feedback from my classmates, who thought it was confusing at first. I submitted my final draft (my third) for consideration in New Mexico Highland University’s student edited Sendero Literary Journal my last semester in college, which was spring 2003. Her jeans are on the floor where she left them, one leg inside out. The dark red curtains are closed because she changed here yesterday. It’s better that the sun can’t shine in today. I…
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There
I wrote this for an Expanded Imagist Poetry assignment for my Creative Writing class my sophomore year in college. I turned in the pencil drawing for a Drawing Studio class in 2000. “There” 8-30-00 On cold concrete steps long abandoned like the building behind, she told him her biggest fear, which he helped cease, and made her smile. She wondered how many had fallen in love there, with the rough, red bricks scraping their backs. He thought about how many in the past had sex there, (as they did) with the sharp, rusty guard rails in the way. He drew lines in the clay to make her think while they discussed his…
