Tuesday, May 20, 2003

waiting to run

he is ending me, slowly.
he smiles in the morning
a ghost of the emotion
a ghost of my father.
perhaps once, it was real.
maybe years ago, before
my breasts
my legs
the puppy love of
middle school
he looked at me,
really looked
and liked
what he saw.

Tuesday, May 6, 2003


on the sink, surrounded
by fuchsia tulle in my cramped,
tiled bathroom

i sponged concealer over
my wrists,
the makeup caking ineffectually inside

the raw, red weals. i

gave it up for a
lost cause, spent the night
three jangling
silver bracelets

*in my B.A. senior thesis