Wednesday, 25 September 2013

Ghazals for Connor

We work to create a portal, this night with morning on our heels;
a small door between us, we shimmy and pry open to invite a small stranger.
A question mark in my belly; a tightness of new living cells,
or indigestion?  I throw down a cord, a life line, hoping for a bite.
Do you want to write this story?
A pen spins on the floor, points at my pelvis.

Grandmother spoke to me in a dream:
sex before marriage is best.
I have never cared for basic math; loss and gain.
This small plus sign could mean everything.                                        

This growing, joyous ache; I feed from within,
count the emergent weeks and always in awe of you.
I gave life to a plant in the second grade, starting
with a small comma-shaped bean, learning all the parts.                               
Now I water my own, see every line in your paper-thin skin.
My breasts throb with this knowing, this sweet tree sap forming for you.
Evening never comes quickly, morning always arrives too soon.
I pause, expanding, waiting for stars to form.
I stretch myself into a bow, ready to shoot; my backside
praying to something.

Friday, 20 September 2013

Ghazal for Joel

Little hummingbird darts and flickers

in and out with your fierce heart.


Hope turns to promise. We watch

your eager body twitch to dance, lips to speak.


Little fish – you expand in your dark pool,

filling with light. Weave your bright spool of thread.


Determined heart beating your happy life.

A quiet bubble; a place to think on your destiny.


This fear in me dissolves

with each small shift in my belly; is it you? Or breakfast?


Squirmy baby, like your brother.

Will either of you sit still for pictures?


Last night I dreamed of your sister, the one

who went back to the stars. She was happy you did come.


Butterfly wings, your curious limbs

like tiny chisels, softly burrowing into my insides.


After all the pokes, the intrusions,

we learn what we knew – your perfect being.


Little water bug, tiny warrior, you shield your precious heart:

battle angry red blood cells with a fork and knife in their hands.      10


I collapse on the couch, after a desk-sitting day,

your brother’s evening protests. You fuss at the outside chaos.


You ride your tricycle, deep in my belly

tiny feet peddle towards the outside.


Soft swirls of morning, you rise with the sun;

swift kicks of evening, you trace the patterns of the moon.


Small hand on your head, hiding

the secret thought of being unborn.


Your brother marks you with his purple stamp,

do you know the love in his dimpled fist?



As you grow, I bend; resist gravity with hands on hips.

I intend to hold this ground.


After poking the hive, the bees lick their honey wounds;

sturdy their small legs back in the work of being.


Third time lucky:  the last round of intrusion,

you grow into a fusion of medicine, new blood and love.


You pass each test, each doubt, and smile in your safe place.

Each mile behind you; bright ribbons ahead.


Our little fighter, brought from a starry night;

this journey is further than your expected arrival.                  20


The heat makes me slow while you sleep inside,

a curled, twitchy life:  I wonder at your dreams.


A full moon in my belly eclipses every part.

My days and memory dissolve in gravity.


I wake in intervals before sunrise, your demands

already lift me from sleep – the quiet, dark places.


This midnight practice, the robbing of night:

a preparation. The ration of lucid and surreal thought in motion.


The weight of caring for two:  a sweet anvil in my heart.

Your due date approaches, veiled in mystery, love and apprehension.


I want to coax you into the world, to have you

travel through me:  a smooth current from dark belly to warm breast.

Tuesday, 10 September 2013

My publisher, Inkwater Press, has told me that the expected release date for my novel, Turnstiles, will be December 12, 2013. Just in time for Christmas! :)
I have not allowed myself much time to swim inside a poem lately, but fortunately I stumbled across this before my boys woke up... A reminder.

Monday, 9 September 2013

After a few years of silence, I am resurrecting my inner blogger. My previous blog can still be viewed at My writing life was slightly derailed after having two boys, but I still have managed to put stamps on my manuscripts and get my words out the door. I am now thrilled to announce that my first novel, Turnstiles, is being published by Inkwater Press and will be available in the coming months! Meanwhile, I am still firing out my poetry manuscripts, as well. My first book of poetry, A Mother's String, was published by Ekstasis Editions in 2005. I have completed my 2nd book-length poetry manuscript and a chapbook-length manuscript of ghazals; hopefully I will find a home for them soon.
As for Turnstiles, I can't believe it is actually happening! I want to thank all of my friends and family for their encouragement and support for my dream of writing a novel, all these years. To my friends who read Turnstiles in its various stages of work-in-progress and gave me constructive feedback; to my husband who cooked dinner so that I could work on Turnstiles; to my mom who read the very first chapters and told me to "keep on going!"; and I would even like to go way back to my third grade teacher who told me she wouldn't be surprised if she saw a book written by me one day. If that's not fuel for the fire, I don't know what is! Last, but of course not least, I want to thank Inkwater Press for their enthusiasm in assisting me to realize my dream of bringing Turnstiles into the world.
So, I am back in the blog, and I will update the events of my writing life as often as I am able. I hope you will all join me!

Happy reading,
Andrea xo