NaPoWriMo 4/25

I look little like my passport, now
Piercings in and out
Freckles gone,
But I.have three New England generations to convince them
and look, they even give me options in case I don't want the history associated with it.

When I tell a little lie at customs, no one discovers it. 

At the border, the woman with a subcontinental accent huffs out,
mutters "they don't know anything, I tell you," a grammatically correct giveaway. 

Her moisturized, manicured hands are no help;
gruff (to her) but friendly (to me) agents do not see the book in her purse,
an ordinary housewife book,
a children-flew-the-nest book,
a too-thick-to-be-found-in-a-drugstore book.
A planning-ahead, planning-to-return book. 

Flowering cover, green font,
everything but Black and Brown.

NaPoWriMo 4/25 for 4/10

The problem, really,
is that I'm not seeking a "je ne sais quoi."  
This is the same year-long phantom limb ache: c'est ce n'est pas un "je ne sais quoi."
My dear little prince, how I wish I had listened
to your story--to the doorway hidden there.
How lazy I was,
never learning how to read.

NaPoWriMo Re-write: What happened in the attic

I ran to the sink
to wash out the blood,
scrubbed so hard it came again,
ran to the bed,
ran to the man,
and the boy would not turn his face to me.

You would not turn your face to me,
all white panic teeth
and red,
My jaw screaming at me to
scream at you,
skin bruised and empty and needing.
I told you how clean I was,
wanted you to cover me in bleach or acetone,
scrubbing until you had to hold me together.

Instead
you left me
red panic eyes
      white night terrors
a room I didn't know
     someone crying in the attic.

NaPoWriMo 4/9

House Always Wins

Even shrouded in cigar smoke

and wide ties,

I would bet—as I ought to, here—

that these floors never had the allure

of freshly-invented neon lights

and big band glitz.

I worried I would be underdressed

in that trailer park pit

jumping –ding!- with each arm pull

the promising whir,

the lack of cheery screams.

I ducked in case of falling chips

or so as not be seen—

I needn’t have worried.

There’s nothing behind this curtain.

NaPoWriMo 4/5

In this darkness,
I imagine your predecessor.
His lips meet mine,
his name.

Your skin is too warm.
I cannot breathe beneath you.

In darkness,
his name comes to my lips,
and I imagine.

NaPoWriMo 4/9 for 4/7

It was the first time I had let a man pay

for the pleasure of my company.

I never told you that,

trucks and dull hobbled ponies

and appearances

on your mind.

In the morning, I raced her down the paddock.

No circles, no hobbles—

free,

until the fence.

You said I wouldn’t have to worry,

that I would be taken care of,

as if it were a freeing concept.

What widow has found comfort in that?

NaPoWriMo 4/3

Entirely in Shadow

It's up you, he said,
you're the one that has to paint it, he said.
Maybe you could just leave it dark.

My left breast.
rushed candle wax
slipped down my stomach,
rolling thumpingly along,
the strike of its chilled pink nub
sending home shivers,
ended its tumble at the legs of an easel,
and begged to be painted.