Tuesday, August 7, 2012. Milk Wars, really? Why do we do this? Here at POEM, we routinely encourage mothers to make healthy choices, based on the evidence available, to support a healthy family environment. But, we in no way support the guilt-inducing pressure that mothers sometimes receive when they struggle with breastfeeding. Or, heaven forbid, they make the choice not to breastfeed.

Flip the script, tip the trip to live and love the life. Or strife and stick the right to fight with might. The travel and traffic have opposite effects,. Within the truth there is a kernel of honesty.

Saturday, September 27, 2014. Gateways lean us through this hollow porch where we can hide from the sun. Beside the prank carcasses and dayglo ribbons of an elf burn. Cast a black moon spell.

Drag your battle axe across the black top. Sparks speak into the night. And the catseyes glow beetle green. Some things now seem small. Like the rain drops on your dress. The glass jar full of marbles. And the liquids in my chest. Now swing that steel viciously. Like slow, viscous drops. Light flows through your ear lobe. The walls wrap round my corner seat. This room feels like a globe. I know a tomb seems like a womb. On a hot June noon.

The dance is a poem of which each movement is a word. She appears intent in her task. Of writing, studying, reading. With head bent dilligently over the books. Eyes scanning the page quickly. But what the casual observer does not know. Is the anxious wondering of her heart. Separated from her by distance. Too far to touch, to feel, to hold. But near in heart and in mind.