Poems

Poem

All night Tippi and I lie with our arms
wrapped around each other
like rope.
I bury my face in her neck
and she wakes every now and then
to kiss the top of my head

Poem

He was seven and I was six, my Brendon Gallacher.
He was Irish and I was Scottish, my Brendon Gallacher.
His father was in prison; he was a cat burglar.

Poem

This is my story.
It is mine alone because I am the one who needs
to tell it.
I am the one who is still here,
no longer stage right but

BOOKED
Poem

When Mom says

she's decided to go back to work,

you're not too surprised,

'cause you know

how much she misses

being around horses

since Dad moved

Poem

Next door live three old ladies. 
They’re sisters, well into their eighties, 
but to us kids, they seem beyond time. 

Poem

I am on the bathroom floor
screeching,
Tippi shaking me back into the world.

BOOKED
Poem

Why couldn't your dad 

be a musician

like Jimmy Leon's dad

or own an oil company

like Coby's?

Better yet, why couldn't