Garden Girl

For all the sprouts shriveled up on cold december mornings, you are not as worthless as you feel. Your evasiveness to warmth comes from your roots dug deep in your self loathing, never knowing anything but sorrow. Despite what you believe you don’t have to shrivel like this, you are allowed to grow. There is an escape from this labyrinth of desolation, although it is seemingly impossible to view yourself as anything but collateral damage. So kind as to let others take what they did not deserve and grow above you, but darling they are not above you. Little sprout you are a flower in bloom, and one day I hope you will come to see your own beauty as much as I do.



The Holidays


Hot chocolate and spiked punch

lonely laughter passed through echoing church corridors

sad smiles placing mistletoe over graves  

roasting cold hearts over fireplaces


a woman walks around with the glow of a vacancy sign in her eyes

“They all left me.” she says. “All I have is the luggage. It’s getting heavy in my mind.”

attending parties full of empty people

wool sweaters and thunderstorms

popping champagne and popping pills


feeling everything or nothing at all

t.v. specials and turkey dinners

music that plays softly and people that talk too loudly

going to shows and putting on shows

wearing happiness like a mask, a smile plastered for drunken family photos


wallets as fat as your laughing uncles stomach

being grateful for all you have and buying as much as you can

children crying on christmas morning about not getting what they want

the coal may not be in their stockings but it’s in their hearts


ice skate blades and chills running down your spine

record players spinning and parents fighting

the wind howls all through the night

trees scraping against bedroom windows

children scraping their knees


growing body counts and holiday cheer

looks like it’s that time of year