1. all the spontaneity
    all the accidental photos
    all the i didn’t know

    the lace inside
    the chicken pox

    the tree trunked
    hallow full

    tile grout

    clay soft
    smoothed over

    you can still feel
    the ridges under
    the dense nerves
    at the tip

    of your forefinger

    keep watch
    place well
    its pointedness

    Tagged #poetry #jillc

  2. death or willfulness
    the source cares not
    for your forgiveness
    there is no antidote
    the poison in
    rejection and
    remains potent
    and unconcerned


  3. you are named cruel tutelage
    intimacy sharp proving
    ground dulled hard
    on the edginess
    of love

    fit pounding
    out around corners
    in front of behind buildings
    where the muffled sound echoes
    off soft weeds worked like putty
    into the cracks that watch us
    make our way back
    from home


  4. running crosswise

    running crosswise through the cotton
    just before the harvest perpendicular
    to the rows at the ends of which
    stood figures hands on hips
    scowls worth more than the threat of continued
    humiliating existence

    plants an army of vicious
    sharp twig thorn bushes
    in rows planted in rows planted
    in rows

    thick knee socks stolen from
    her ex softball player girlfriend
    shoes left beside the bed so white
    soles coated in the black face of mud
    naked brown strapping muscle under
    a white cotton canvas oversized button down
    she is running through rows planted in rows
    running rows

    she is running toward the orchard
    and sunrise and lashings
    more lashings more
    lashing more
    of mother nature’s
    harsh comb and brush

    past the rows
    past the barricade
    past the sticks
    past the squatting
    between to getaway

    once every day of her lifetime
    was spent wearing the soaked
    through mud of her jeans’ knees

    she wore through proud holes

    her legs ring nude
    her thighs are not planted
    in rows or branches of thick
    her thighs are a shushing soft skin
    bronze glow delight moving crosshatched

    in bird scratchings haphazard
    scritchings of bright red blood
    blood that never drips

    the pattern spells power
    in a language
    you might well
    not even bother
    try to cipher

    known only to each


  5. what’s cooking

    tin can clanking
    embarrassed myself feeling
    louder than inadequate
    allows over the boulder
    shove down swallow
    when lying in silence
    listen for the sound
    that woke you up
    to rewind and re-erupt
    as evidence it was isolated
    as in it will not be coming back
    for you sure as the banging
    noise of groping in blinding light
    for the feel of quiet the taste
    distracting thick on your tongue
    at your throat
    in the back where it meets
    your less than reluctant
    enough voice
    and one of your feet
    always on its way in
    from stomping
    to tamp in
    these seeds

    these are the seeds
    that grew the flowers
    that feed the bees
    that live at her place

    this is not the house
    that jack built
    and she is not
    the little red

    she sits
    rather than stand

    Tagged #poetry #jillc

  6. deeper treads

    the pedestal is cruel
    with the view all exposed
    up nostrils and butt
    cheeks aglow red
    from the heat and the cold
    burning both ends at once
    while twirling

    the sound of it swirling
    an onomatopoeia
    more interesting than that
    associated with sex

    but more grueling
    less compassionate
    and ultimately unpleasantly
    dizzy if you are the one spinning
    that thread 


  7. finally across

    finely the recognition came at long last like grated cheese, wispy and clinging cobweb tresses, dairy and milked over beams hanging below the loft, across the rungs of the ladder, wrung and twisted laundry wafting in lines, sheets fanning the face of low clouds slung oblong and odd at angles as breasts downy weight under skin silken with water salted soft and clinging across freckles between birth marks


  8. wheat or white

    dark arrived with day
    on drops of rain
    sheeting against the paint
    of lighting

    keep the floor dry
    as our promises
    and senses
    of humor

    waking wet to our routine
    abandoned absence
    in favor of missing you
    smiling above my hand’s run
    across my neck

    wave to the way
    your fingers pinch
    your bottom lip
    so close to the open
    mouth soft and dusky

    lost memories

    i can’t remember
    your favorite
    brand of peanut butter
    but i never forget
    the pizza face down
    on the sidewalk

    the odd ways our spirits
    much up even when
    you wear a tie


  9. trunked and grinning

    even when it’s crowded
    invisible or not
    i am beginning to think
    the elephant really likes
    being in the room

    Tagged #poetry #jillc

  10. form
    allows the water to pool
    wherein then
    you float

    might i


  11. when

    few things are more unsettling
    waking up in a hotel room
    we are all putting too much faith
    in our cups of coffee this morning
    i was meant to be
    to books and dreams
    porch roof chest
    to dreamers
    skin beach
    to tears
    echo chamber of laughter
    touch down here
    birdie dear

    be daring
    when you come


  12. songs
    fell in drops of rain
    pooling together
    in a hand print
    holding the form
    of love cupped
    with the sweat of palms
    tears held back
    before given
    to generosity
    rhyme schemes
    propelled on musky
    floating on air
    dense bass beats
    up from hot cores
    boiling beneath fingers
    meeting to keep
    their reach

    thirty three songs
    fell in drops of rain
    each a grateful hymn
    written in years
    blood rings
    "you were born"

    Tagged #poetry #jillc

  13. sometimes i think of you
    in unfair terms

    sometimes i think of you
    at odd turns

    sometimes i think of you
    on the long road

    sometimes i think of you
    crossing my path home

    sometimes i think of you
    and pretend we are dancing

    sometimes i think of you
    more than simply in passing

    sometimes i think of you
    when i am sure you are thinking of me, too
    but mostly not

    sometimes i think of you
    on the day before your birthday

    sometimes i think of you
    tired with dark eyes frayed

    sometimes i think of you
    swimming in my wine

    sometimes i think of you
    too often, but never
    as mine

    Tagged #poetry #jillc

  14. indigo tinfoil crinkle
    blue sheet of silvery
    evening lake

    grass green afghan
    blanketing yellow firefly fringe
    woven in

    thick brushed suede
    grey cotton batting
    sky darkening

    my mind’s eye trained
    on the world you make
    me think with you
    in it


  15. thinly speaking

    what slice lies between
    the unspoken and the deceptive

    what cleavage wrenches
    absence from attention

    where does intention
    register and in contrast fail
    to count

    how many digits missing
    in the equation that figures
    your account

    of the story or
    is it truth

    which one, then
    when and how

    is there an algorithm
    for exactly the right mixture
    of all the realities riding the edge
    of and edging out what stands in for
    the genuine meaning attaching
    me to you