Monthly Archives: March 2012



Wicker Park


This soul was vapid.
A product of loveless lovemaking,
The girl child spent youth watching her mother
Take care of other people.
Enable other people.

Having been put on the back-burner
to simmer on low,
She began to raise herself.
Growing inward – shy, quiet
a b o o k w o r m
A nerd with one friend who was also a nerd.
Heroin needles under the sofa.
Raging drunk beating down the front door.

This was normal,
everyone grew up like this.

And then….something…..
No longer a shy quiet bookworm –
A simmering pot
if forgotten long enough
will eventually begin
to bubble
and burn.

Now filled with armor,
an armor of rage
of sarcasm
of “I’m fat but I’m funny.”
She spent her teen years in this state.

An unnatural ebb and flow of weight,
Brought her into her twenties.

A marriage.
A daughter.
A reason to find God.

Heavy with love.

Wasted Youth

Too many years
Way – WAY too many years
spent wandering
Bumping through
Scraping by

A public education
Trying to find myself
in city kids

Too white for one
Too black for another
Not Polish enough
Not Puerto Rican at all
And much too tall to be a Mexican

A private education
Learning to hate myself
in daddy’s eyes

Too smart for him
Too drunk to love
Not dedicated enough
Not motivated at all
And way too proud to take such shit.

Too many years.

30 years

And I still don’t know

Names of God


Stock paper and markers. May Allah subhanahu wa ta’aala forgive my horrible Arabic writing skills!

Imaan in Winter


Thread, wire, letter pendants, glue.

The pendant letters spell out the word “IMAAN” which roughly translates into “faith.” Even when we are feeling dark, alone, twisted, etc., we can always hold onto a thread of faith.

Spring, InshaAllah


Paper, thread, and glue.

Building Tank


Gray to Grey to White

Gray to Grey to White

My Hyperthyroidic Lover

There were nothing but bones left
In my bed
And the whisper of love

A sticky sweet remembrance
Of our brief time together

I rolled over to smell your pillow
Quickly turning cold
Your scent fading
As my heartbeats slowed
And passion gave way to melancholy

I heard you pull out your guitar
Could feel the nervous plucking

I wished for a cigarette

We each have our own way

Of detaching