God is a File-Folder-Manila Horse’s Head

Her chair creeks

as she reaches

for the last folder

in the last drawer

of her file cabinet

She knows

(of course she knows,

she knows everything),

that humans should

alphabetically be filed 

between howler monkeys

and hummingbirds

But she never wants

to stumble accidentally 

over her greatest 

disappointment

She sighs, pen in hand,

and opens the file

to add the latest update

Once again,

they killed recklessly,

she writes,

wishing now

she had used 

a spreadsheet,

(marking x’s would 

have been easier)

They slaughtered endlessly,

she continues 

Forests fell to their 

unquenched, greedy hands

They stood proudly

atop their pile of victims,

thanking her

(or their shallow

understanding of her)

for their overstuffed bellies

and their accumulating piles

of stacked green paper,

as if that were somehow

part of her plan 

God, 

if she does exist,

is crying for her children

who thoughtlessly 

cut off the head

of the horse and

then pray in hope

that he will run again

20 Apr 2020

Melancholy is an Indigo Plant

The calendar

claimed Spring,

the time

of beautiful

blossoms

But behind 

my mask,

I felt not

the warmth 

of the sunshine,

only cold,

lonely isolation

Fear 

sprinkled

like rain

upon my 

branches

I held 

my breath,

defying osmosis,

unwilling to let 

the water droplets

enter my roots

One day

I hoped

my blossoms

would return

One day

I hoped

to breathe

again

16 Apr 2020

Dread is a Tangerine Lunchbox

Ensnared by

his glaring menace,

an awkward silence 

fell upon the lunchroom

I cowered internally

over my tangerine 

lunchbox,

selfishly hoping

it was not my turn

to be today’s target

13 Apr 2020

Love is a Smoker’s Dingy Yellow Lamp

I stared 

in silence,

wondering 

how all the 

dust and grime

gathered

unwanted

on top of 

something

that was once

so fresh 

and new

The remnants

of excitement

now dimmed

beneath

years of 

toil and 

disappointments

and I had 

no idea

how to 

even begin

to remove

the stains

10 Apr 2020

Euphoria is a Jolly Rancher Green Clown

Smiles lined the 

faces of my friends

But his skin

was the color 

of the sticky green

jolly rancher

I found weeks later

under my bed

His nose the color

of the blood 

I imagined dripping 

from my veins

His laughter

would pierce

my nightmares

for years to come

One kid’s euphoria

is another kid’s

creepy-ass clown

9 Apr 2020

A Hangover is a Beige Dictionary

The disagreeable aftereffects

were an inconvenience 

he had learned to tolerate

The irritation 

of his abdomen,

The sporadic

anguish inside 

his cranium

Lethargic mornings,

a tolerable consequence

of the drunkenness

that disguised 

the harsher pain 

that filled his nights

9 Apr 2020

Wonder is a Sage Green Crocus

“Why?”

I asked 

for the twenty-ninth time,

though I wasn’t 

the one keeping count

“That one,” I said,

my finger 

pointing out the obvious

“Why does it stay green?”

“It is young and still growing,”

she replied 

with more patience

than I might muster

in her place

“Like me,” 

I exclaimed

“Yes, dear. Like you.”

“But, mom, 

what if it never 

turns purple,

what if it is always 

different than the rest?”

“Then it will still be beautiful

just the way it is.”

“Like me?”

I asked hesitantly,

hopefully

“Just like you,”

she smiled,

awaiting my 

next question

4 Apr 2020

Truth is a Cobalt Blue Vase

As long as 

I could remember,

she had loved flowers

In her gardens,

on her table

She could no longer 

work the land, 

it was struggle enough

to care for herself

these days

Her blue vase,

the former centerpiece 

of her stunning

dining room table,

now sat on a small 

bedside stand

to brighten 

the confines

of the only room 

she could still 

call her own

With each visit,

she would tell me 

the names of the 

beautiful occupants:

ox-eye sunflowers,

wild bergamot,

rough blazing stars

With curiosity,

my mind wondered

which flowers 

I’d see blooming today

when I stepped 

inside Grandma’s room

The emptiness of the vase

told me everything

before the nursing home staff

could say a word

3 Apr 2020

Obstacle is a Canary Yellow Globe

That globe

That goddamn globe

Canary yellow

like the world was sick

and the water polluted

with something foul

She dragged it everywhere,

such a strange object

for my little sister’s affection

Snuggling it 

like a teddy bear

as she traveled

from room to room

But her attention 

waned easily,

she was a child after all,

and the globe,

that goddamn globe,

seemed to always

find my toes

as I stumbled down 

the dark hallway

to my bedroom

It wasn’t until years later

that I came to realize

how fitting the color was

3 Apr 2020

Oval Office Party

Hate grabs his buddies

(he’s perpetually popular)

Blame sits 

like a parrot

upon his shoulder,

eager to squawk

Boastful and Lies,

conjoined at the hip,

whisper in his ear,

while Greed salivates

in anticipation

Fearmongering 

puffs his chest

in a futile effort

to block Confusion

from sight

Ineptitude has renamed 

himself Genius

No, Hate is never alone

3 Apr 2020

Watch it performed

This piece was written from this writing prompt:

Frustration is a Grease-Stained, Broken Washing Machine

Dirty water spins

until the machine

grinds to an abrupt halt

that no amount of

frantic button pushing

can remedy

On such days,

my life feels like

this greased-stained

broken washing machine

It took my last quarter

to make my dirty clothes

wet

3 Apr 2020

Doubt is an Apricot Chameleon

The innate ability

to differentiate

the shades of peach 

from those of papaya

has recklessly 

passed me by

I try to match

the pigment 

of my background,

yearning for 

the color that 

will provide the 

perfect protection,

so I can rest 

without fear

or judgment,

an isolation

of invisibility,

but I falter

every damn time

“Safety orange”

offered no safety

I clumsily strive 

to perceive 

the difference

between carrot

and tangerine,

persimmon and jasper,

tea rose and melon,

but the struggle 

only ends in 

tears of frustration,

inadequacy

Why can’t I,

like the others,

blend in?

I question

each choice

that led my feet

to the very spot

that now effortlessly

discloses my 

glaring presence,

my failure to hide

But maybe apricot 

wasn’t made for 

camouflage, 

my existence not

intended to dissolve 

into an unknown backdrop

Perhaps apricot

is just showing me

as I choose to be

3 Apr 2020