by Kathleen MacGregor
On Thanksgiving, when we all come together,
gathering up our stories and our stances
in our arms, like crops from the field;
When we come bearing insistent separateness,
proud individuality,
spilling our armloads clumsily all over each other,
because we have come with more than we can carry,
there is a grief.
The grief pours down from the
middle of us and
pools on the ground at our feet. We...
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image by Richard Vernon
I am the psychopathic killer.
Do you dare know me?
I have kept myself well hidden
In order to do my dirty work
You have not wanted
To see me here.
I do my work in the shadow.
Unseen, unheard, unfelt
For what I am.
I ride on the tail of rage
The whip at the end
That cuts into fresh tender flesh
Lashing out quickly and deeply
Leaving before
I can be found.
You haven’t known me
Though you are...
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You’re not alone by confusedvision
It’s so lonely in this place.
No one comes to visit here.
They don’t even know I live here.
They don’t know I exist.
I’ve tried to let them know but
It’s as if they shun me.
My voice isn’t very loud,
That’s true.
I haven’t had the courage
To shout and let my presence be felt.
I haven’t wanted to shout,
It feels too much,
Too...
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by Kathleen MacGregor
Something’s bothering me.
In the dim, cold bathroom this morning,
I stubbed my toes as I was rushing
between getting dressed
and a time that hasn’t happened yet.
A time later in the day, the week, the month.
Almost immediately,
holding my foot, and offering my breath to the pain,
to say sorry,
I took it as a reminder to come present.
Aloud I said, “Thank you. Thank...
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It’s later, now.
After the peaches
and the pie crust and
after Dad said
he has lymph cancer.
It’s after spending 3 hours today blanching,
peeling, slicing and spicing
peaches I bought on Tuesday
and placed in the brown paper bag,
on the Mexican tile floor.
Beneath the side board
they rested into themselves
for four days.
Until their scent
dripped thickly from the air
and sweetened us with sunset...
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