I made a promise to myself Knowing that, should I break It, the garden in my thoughts Would wilt and decay, Leaving not one seed behind: See, no matter what you Do, or how hard you try, with that Scheming mind and the mouth that Longs to joy with my … More The Day I Lost Myself – Christina Batista

My mother is in heaven   In fact, she is a lot of things A compiled list of complicated concepts That force the world to know She is an identity of her own   My mother is a flower   In more ways than just her name A favorite regardless … More Dahlia – Mia Orris

    Blood-choked cries and the shots heard ‘round the world did not quite reach Washington.

My sister stands behind me. I sit on a black folding chair. My head bobbles as she pulls my “friends” out of my hair. Even with her skills, it is still a daunting task and not for the faint of heart. She lathers in some special cream that only Empire … More Knotted Hair – Madelyn Gibson

Have you not noticed (as you lie beside me night after night) that I (as well as you) long for the time when we did not lie beside each other but lay together

A saber slashing freely at the page, A feral staccato dance built of Conte’ crayons, inspiration in a mirror of Titanium white, Mars black, Scarlet red. The Phantom face stretched in minutes– its life is frozen: a gray, paper continuum. “Who…? Who are you?”—yet speechless it returns a stare.   … More The Stygian Self – Travis Clayton Wright

I fried a couple eggs and found my father in the pan. “Hello,” said the eggs, “… surprised you.” “Hi dad… you did.” I took a bite. “You look tired, son…” “I guess I am.” I took another bite. “You need more sleep… your mother wants to know if you’ve … More I Fried a Couple Eggs – Robert Wiemann

Gray, marble-like hands with thick, sturdy fingers Awkwardly entwined in the rosary Well camouflage their owner’s past For these were the tools that once…   Painted love on empty paper, creating a poem for mother   Grasped the pick and shovel of manhood, taking wages from earthen bowels   Gripped … More My Father’s Hands – Marie Bloom

In those days, Our love smelled like formalin And our eyes would furtively meet over the anatomy notes To confirm a sweet promise–our sole tie   In those days We had forsaken incredulous parents and skeptical friends. And to change the world, Just the two of us…   Our heart … More A Medical Type of Love – Joseph H. Etienne

i have my grandpa’s hands, i have my grandpa’s hands. the hands of a man more my father than my father (or the folks i called “Dad”) hands of a man that taught me to count and clap hands that held my head as i cried [ah, sweet injustices of … More Grandpa’s Hands – Sherrila Levin