Back in my midwest poetry writing, watercoloring, soap making days. 2003-ish.

Every once in a while I still do it, too. But I used to do it every day.

Recently, my first ex husband got remarried. I’ve been married twice already, and some days I’m fine as frog’s fur with that, and other days I feel like it’s a bit of dirt up my nose that I can never wash out. I can smell it, and it’s visible, and that dirt says, “Here’s a lady who doesn’t know how to have a long lasting, meaningful relationship. Here’s a lady destined to make bad choices.” Couple that with having three kids from three different fathers, take a look in my cupboards at my chipped, non-matching dishes, and look at the way I thumb tack mementos to my bedroom wall, and this is the pretty little package of a someone stunted person.

So, Mitch got remarried. Nothing feels weird about it. There are no moments where I miss what we had; no regrets that things ended. The wedding reception was great, too. They had a mashed potato bar, you guys. And in the morning? At brunch? Another mashed potato bar. It was some kind of heaven, and a goddam lovely time.
(more…)

The feel of a carpenter ant
beneath your tooth
back hairs like brillo pad prongs
oil coming off the stinking bastard
the way his pincers clattered against the spoon,
biting stupidly thinking he’ll break skin
his last time
as your tiny teeth pressed him
white guts and black shell
along with the cornflakes (more…)

Your side of the bed is spicy in odor
but cold.
It is not at all you;
not at all like my mouth when we kissed

I liked kissing you
on your side of the bed
licking the backs of your teeth,
never caring if your breath was
first thing in the morning
or last thing at night
or after you’d eaten cheese.

Your side of the bed is Old Spice
and still discarded beer cans
It’s a mess over there
because I haven’t
been over there in a while.

It’s a mess over here, too,
over on my side of the bed
because I haven’t left
in a while.