poems
maybe this is all you get
a clip of one of the two poems I performed at this past weekend’s Albuquerque Aerialist Collective show, A Curated Exhibition of the Lost & Found. this video was taken at rehearsal the night before the show. by opening night, i had actually managed to memorize that line at the end.
Read Moremaps
my dad, and the girl scouts, taught me how to read a map. to interpret topography, climb a mountain, return home. to carry a compass at all times, and to use it. if you have this, you can never get lost. for years i kept one in my purse. now i remember your crooked brown…
Read MoreMetamorphosis & Mayhem video
Metamorphosis & Mayhem poetry performance with Lisa Gill, Erin Daughtrey & Tani Arness January 24th, 2016 at Tortuga Gallery
Read Morelike the light
i am almost twilight i am almost home i am cracked by a thousand birds crossing the darkening sky. you are a silhouette you are a stormcloud you are half of every strand of DNA in my body. the storm strains inside my skin. the storm is breaking. you will never be merely memory. you…
Read Morepoetry reading this sunday!
Join us for a poetry reading featuring new and collaborative work by Tani Arness Erin Daughtrey Lisa Gill and Kat Heatherington 4pm at Tortuga Gallery 901 Edith SE $5 We have a collaborative poem in four voices for the finale — this will be a one-of-a-kind experience! A limited-edition chapbook including work by each of…
Read Morewhat to remember
remember not that you argued with your sister, but that you sang in the kitchen alone, and the house remembered a sound it had not heard in years. remember fireflies blinking slowly in the roadside dark and a night sky as open as the Arizona night sky – remember, on the last night, every star…
Read Morebells
all night my sleep is troubled by bells. outside, the bronze bell from my wedding, the arcosanti bell, three leaping fish on the clapper, plays in the wind of a passing storm. your love enfolds me from afar, a molecular cloak. it is in your sweatshirt that i will not take off. it is in…
Read Morewinter can wake me when you return
the dawn sky cracks with birdsong. wild geese fly over in a noisy mass, autumn spilling from their wingbeats. you leave my side, your silhouette disappears through the doorway into a grey morning, one shadow vanishing into another. weeks will pass before i see you again. i do the only thing i can, and go…
Read Morewingbeats
framed in sunlit stitches
i woke to blood like a waterfall between my legs and a spider newly living on the door. all night i had dreamed you were lying beside me, our bodies soft with sleep conjoined the darkness thickened by our linked breath. in the rising light of day there is only the cat with her needs…
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