I don’t really like poetry, but I do love my son’s. He’s in competition with me on who gets published first. He’s winning. I can’t believe I grew this child, and his sister. By far, my most creative work.

Here’s his latest piece:, although I like his revised piece more:


Rub the ridges of my neck like Braille,
so you can read the words
my mouth can’t speak.

Count the little bones in my fingers
like they are beads on an abacus, calculating
some long lost touch.

Press your lips to mine,
and my closed eyes
are a kaleidoscope.

In Genesis, to make love
is to know. Try and kiss me
like you don’t.


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