Poetry and Performances
As a poet and writer of short stories and novels, I have performed throughout the Colorado Springs and Denver areas. I have performed at schools, coffee shops, Fine Art Centers, and other locations. If interested in having me perform, please contact me. I also teach creative writing classes on poetry and short stories.
Baggage
I know how to leave.
Practiced leaving ever since I was five.
I walked around and around the block,
ragged suitcase filled with clean underwear
(because mother always said we needed extra panties),
one book (my favorite which no longer needed to be read to me),
and paper to write on (just in case an extraordinary thought came to mind).
I needed nothing else,
except permission to cross the street.
So I dragged my suitcase around the block eight times
until mother found a determined child marching
away from her.
I know how to leave.
Practiced throwing away all that was special.
When you leave, travel light.
I couldn't carry more than a suitcase or two even when I was eleven.
I knew exactly what to pack: my favorite pair of jeans,
the ones with holes in both knees, my blue striped top, and my diary.
That was really all I needed.
Who needs toys at eleven?
I know how to leave.
Bags filled with precious memories,
heavy, laden with both good and bad,
tucked away in my closet
in case I need them during the night.
I know how to leave without crying or begging,
how to whisper good-bye to their backs.
Lock the door as I go.
Practiced leaving ever since I was five.
I walked around and around the block,
ragged suitcase filled with clean underwear
(because mother always said we needed extra panties),
one book (my favorite which no longer needed to be read to me),
and paper to write on (just in case an extraordinary thought came to mind).
I needed nothing else,
except permission to cross the street.
So I dragged my suitcase around the block eight times
until mother found a determined child marching
away from her.
I know how to leave.
Practiced throwing away all that was special.
When you leave, travel light.
I couldn't carry more than a suitcase or two even when I was eleven.
I knew exactly what to pack: my favorite pair of jeans,
the ones with holes in both knees, my blue striped top, and my diary.
That was really all I needed.
Who needs toys at eleven?
I know how to leave.
Bags filled with precious memories,
heavy, laden with both good and bad,
tucked away in my closet
in case I need them during the night.
I know how to leave without crying or begging,
how to whisper good-bye to their backs.
Lock the door as I go.
.
