Category Cadence

Blamed

Your voice is too friendly, Your smile too inviting, Your laugh too welcoming. Don’t speak. You’re giving these people the wrong idea. Be silent.   White powder spread across the table, glass bottles scattered on the floor; the loud men filling the room grow more menacing with each snort of cocaine. Such peace for me in his chaotic life when he doesn’t notice me. He reminds me, “Lock the door

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Hurricane Irma, From a Distance

You look so awesome from this angle, the cosmic one our local meteorologists, always eager to be the first to send us news of imminent devastation, have helpfully digitized and rendered ceaselessly uploadable. Did the satellite shutter- bug catch you at your best? Would you have preferred just one more quick take, maybe to tweak that stray stratus just escaping your otherwise tightly wound coiffure or to alter your catapultingly

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An Aspen Tree

The aspen tree rises daintily A paper mache model in white Heart shaped leaves rattle A soft murmur in the breeze Its branches bird’s nest hold Nature’s little hi-rise for Its summer animal inabitants And in autumn its precious golden nuggets Catch fire against Blue gentle Colorado sky And in winter brave and strong Against the arctic cold winds And suffocating snow To return in the long awaited spring In

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Hanging Poem

This poem was crafted from the words of community. In Manitou Springs, in Soda Springs Park, in the summer of 2017, people gathered for Poetry and Pottery in the park, an event hosted by Poetry Heals. Visitors and participants were invited to write whatever words they wanted onto paper tags. We tied the tags onto like tinsel in random order throughout the summer. I have edited this version slightly from

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I just want to be a poem

I just want to be a poem, To let my motions move you to speak, So you say my name in A thousand different ways, each word A drop of rain captured on pen tip In a spiral notebook I want my eyes to see you As you speak my language written In silver letters Across midnight skies, And you wake from the dream And the magic is so strong

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Inner Girl Child

For Lindy I’ve written this poem a thousand times in my head Before I ever put pen to paper. You see, there’s a part of me that’s not–not a lot– Just some flotsam discarded on a road long unguarded. I left Lindy by the wayside before I turned 25, And although I tried, I couldn’t stop looking Over-shoulder to see if she came after. She followed me home until I

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