Tag Archives: identity

a handful of herstory

This is an expanded and edited version of Bee sting, for the dVerse prompt “The body & Poetry“.

I have since given away my beehive, so no revisits after this. 

My hand swells as the venom spreads,
until it is smooth and puffed;
an inflated glove
or a giant toddler’s hand. Continue reading

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step off or step back?

Step back or step off?
Every edge presents a choice.

Perhaps that is why
edges are so compelling –
each is a temptation. Continue reading

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in-flight entertainment

For dVerse’s MTB Opening lines…beginnings prompt:

 

I didn’t think to fold my shadow
and place it in the overhead compartment,
or under the seat in front.
It should have been mentioned
in the pre-flight warnings. Continue reading

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go stand in the corner Vanessa

This is a response to The sound of one hand typing’s “go stand in the corner” prompt:

Times are hard in quarantine,
harder than I’ve ever seen –
the vegan food’s not vegan enough,
and washing my own hair!? That’s rough!

Continue reading

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mirrors of the soul II

From an angle
I saw, Continue reading

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mirrors of the soul I

Don’t gaze into my eyes to look for my soul –
eyes are windows for the soul to look out
from the darkness behind.

From the outside,
they are only curved one-way mirrors,
reflecting back your own reduced and distorted image.

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bee sting

My currently hideously swollen ankle (see attempted matricide) reminded me of the last time I was stung by a bee, and decided that I really needed to get rid of my hive. This is an abridged version of the poem I wrote at the time:

My hand slowly swells
as the venom spreads,
until, stretched smooth,
all the wrinkles disappear
and all the tiny hidden scars
stand out clear –
my history, written on my hands. Continue reading

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leadership training VI

The last leadership training session was this week, so here’s the (w)rap-up to the series (sing along with me):

I don’t need your SCARF
wrapped around my neck. Continue reading

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leadership training IV

 [an owl,
I fly through a window Continue reading

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identity I

Identity accretes
like the scraps on the shell
of a decorator crab: Continue reading

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