dirt on the welcome mat

Tag Archives: skin

the sin we’ve sown
chokes as it blooms
bright yellow,
its dark face mocks the sun

the skin we’ve grown
shifts with weight
and worry,
and wisdom doesn’t keep
the wrinkles away

the wind we’ve known
lifts grime and treasure
with the same late whistle
to which trees, grass, and legs
tremble and sway
like ticks holding on
to skin and blood


we found our
bicycle helmets-
cracked pastel plastic
spider-webbed
and too small

the frayed black straps pulled my hair
the buckle pinched your fingertips

but your thick scar
and my skipping heart
kept our heads hard

we were careful
but I’m still separating
pavement from skin


Hear the little fires pop
And sizzle on pale autumn skin?
Marshmallow roasts and hay rides
Bump down sweatered arms
As scary stories begin
To wind-whisper shivers into sweat
And bring breath to a boil.
Faces glisten
Apple-bobbing wet
As scarecrow hands and feet
Recoil- then reach for the breeze
Far from patched overalls,
The thick uncomfortable layers,
That fickle fashion of fall.


I stared at the
Long black hair
Stretched like
Calligraphy over your rug
Just before you smeared a salve 
On each eye,
Like pencil over paper,
Rubbing, tracing a leaf underneath,
Then somehow
A new skin slipped
Itself over
And I lost
Arms and legs,
But your tongue was forked.


Our sweaty hands

Reached up and pulled them as they waved,

Fistfuls of summer leaves

Whose veins ran cool through

Green apple skin and

Soft undersides.

We held them up

Until our skin turned pink

And the sun spun purple in our eyes.

Around our fingers, each leaf curled,

Then with sun rays fell

And stayed a while in our front yard.


We’re a pair
Of ocean ears.
The pattern of the tides are
Seared in shadows
Cast by flesh-colored curves
O
f seashell cartilage.
Nerves drift
In seaweed clusters
Beneath our skin’s sparkling surf while
White cotton buoys dance with shark fins,
Swabbing the salt sounds
That swirl between us.


We started to tile

Our arms and legs

In cold blue

Porcelain squares,

Unaware that

Dust, to skin,

Is gentle,

But each soft speck

Will come cracking down

In sledgehammer strokes

On the thinnest of

Finished, protective surfaces.