'Flash' writing anthology about chronic pain - submissions welcome!
In Lithuanian, runoti means both “to cut (with a knife)” and “to speak”. Hail: Hagalaz Pain, loss, suffering, hardship, sickness, crisis. Spirit-breaker Faith-Taker Misery-Maker Joy-Stealer Dream-Breaker Shadow-Hound. Thought-Waker Friend-Fooler […]
And for a long time She wanted to tell it to someone place it in the visible world— yet nothing she could speak of nor anything she had been told. In our residences, the old-fashioned exile of unwelcome subjects to guard against the wrong arrangement of text. How to narrate an illness in fairer climates […]
Today I was issued with hand splints. Carapaced; oddly reassuring, oddly restricting; Even in their disposition. I am that crab. Their bindings have an onomatopoeia: irascible. by Ruth Victoria Chalkley Additional poems hosted on other websites: Tanzkarte NHS; Carrier Pigeon for Science U.K.
i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my […]
(after a poem by Jane Kenyon) The sick mother stayed in the car During swimming, music, dance. Not yet fifty, She had learned the many ways The able-bodied become just bodies. Afternoon always came too quick With its carpools and constant motion. She was still the secretary Of details and schedules. Still indispensable. So in […]
It was necessary to lend myself to the memory of a body that could. To separate from the broken figure, the body that would not listen. To not pretend. To forego. To not waste the clock’s signal. To set it straight. To disown magical inclinations. To attach to that which understands. To disavow the indifferent. […]
And what are the chances that I am what this is this as what I am told to be the case and I am the case to be taken on and out of the way fix it so others can breathe and get on with it what are the chances that this is what I […]
that unwanted invasion – now tethered over my back binding my knees burdening my shoulders with the heaviness which is my own being – my own cosmic orb of flames arcing slowly across from dawn until dusk and smoldering on through shadowland. – now anchored still tugging below my ribs pulling inside my left eye […]
I’m poeming this poem from a forest-boreal transition zone anticipating intense public reaction to my poem against the bony mets that XXXX up my posture & infiltrate our nat’l backbone its prostate biopsy analogy lost/inapparent in the sagamore gloam this spine unresponsive to the pre-patent analog that is my poem by Maureen Miller doctorwritermaureenmiller.tumblr.com [This […]
The snow and salt on your coat suggests that you’ve been outside shoveling, maybe, or tossing snowballs for the dogs. But in fact it’s the dogs who have brought the snow and salt inside, flinging it onto your coat when they shake it away. Your coat hangs on the back of a chair and you […]