poetry

  • women of a certain rage

    Women of a certain rage don’t know how things work. We don’t know why our mother didn’t have the language for what she carried. Why, as a kid, we wanted to know everything and then when we got older we… Continue reading

  • the last drive in

    Some of my best memories as a kid and a teenager live in the glow of summer nights at the drive‑in.  In the late ’70s, my big sister would swing by home, or Happy Hills Campground, to pick me up… Continue reading

  • for frank n dolly

    In the 2018 season at Stratford, The Rocky Horror Show became a wickedly talented, dear friend that met me at the door 14 different nights throughout a tough year and wrapped me up in a big, ‘ol campy, glam-rock blanket… Continue reading

  • heaven is a campfire

    I like to thinkthat before any of us had bodieswe sat around a campfirein heaven,leaning into its warmthletting the light touch our faces,our knees tucked up to our chests.The flames crackledlike tiny miracles,sending up sparksas if the stars were being… Continue reading

  • definition

    Woke /wohk/(adjective.) The moment a person stands uprightin the full measure of their seeing.As in what Pope Leo said:To be called woke in a world that sleepsthrough sufferingis no insult. Or,the strange conditionin which noticing the worldis treated as more… Continue reading

  • the trouble with erasure

    They took down the Pride flagat Stonewall,the birthplace of belonging,like lowering a clothcould lower a people. As if a history that rosefrom riot and refusalcould be dimmed,could be drowned,could be undone,by stripping its colours from the sky. She whispered as… Continue reading

  • a mirror in minneapolis

    Two liveswhose names readlike promisesthe world failed to keep:Good. Pretti. What a bitter sermontheir deaths preach:That goodness is no armour,that beauty is not spared,that loving your peoplewill cost your life.A dark gospelspelled out in their bloodon the streets of Minneapolis.… Continue reading