Tag: pattie

16.

we lenten is come with love — we worms woweth — we women waxeth

we think the archive might be tidal

our second miracle is to fuck successfully when the house is awake

our second miracle is to fuck successfully when the house is quiet

I am hemmed another inch each time she says I’m a saint

I am — or I was — a wicked girl according to my eighth grade nun

15.

we find it unsurprising the sainthood is boring

I am maximum autumn mom

I am winter misfit mother

I am your friendly local vernal equinox mama — if equinox is pronounced by John Hurt as Krapp

I am called mumz by my children — that ‘s two syllables by the bye

14.

I am in a starbucks — exhausted

I am going to let that text buzz again

we can tell a hawk from a heronshaw

we hold a useless language on our tongues & it becomes useful

13.

we searched for hagstones in the wrackline of wicked march

our ordinary is intertidal

I am ‘watching brexit in bed’ years old

11.

I am so pure I am a monster

12.

I am ‘teaching students how to cite a tweet in MLA’ years old

we can tell a swift from a swallow

10.

we said so — that’s why

I taught three classes

I did the dishes

I walked to & from the train

I am doing the laundry

I am research assistant on this sixth grade earthquake project

I am quizzing some fourth grade vocabulary

I am ‘choosing optimism against the evidence’ years old

I am in an ordinary evening

I am not writing

9.

our flesh is tested in crabbed lent

we buy chincoteague salties for five dollars a dozen on the roadside

we can tell a raven from a crow

I am having my penultimate period

I find these sharply articulated consonants most attractive

I am older than ‘back on my bullshit’ years old — nevertheless

I am back on my bullshit

I fail yet another daily writing practice

we’re in the yellow I’ve dreamt about — shaped by tracery &

8.

I am so pure & lonely — please come home

I’m not into a lifestyle of denial — he said

we are an uncountable noun

we nest & we agree & we neb

I went in a building only to look at how the light entered it

we the air softer— the blue brighter— the wind shifter

we note the crocuses burst up while we were at work

our second miracle is the lay or lie of the land

7.

we know that saints do not require privacy

we nestle & we argue & we neither of us give it our best

I am ‘watching masterpiece mystery online illegally’ years old

I read lent is where she lives & thought — yes

our books — our eyes — need better light

I am taking the pot from the fire — its mark left in the ashes

I am ‘leave your socks on — it’s cold’ years old

6.

I am judgmental of drive-through ashes

I earn my ashes the old-fashioned way — with bad habits

I am ‘buying high arch insoles for my doc martens’ years old

we became saints through a total lack of privacy

we find everything in need of a mend

we put our feet through our socks & our fingers through our towels &

5.

our hands scorched through holes in the potholders

we write the paragraph of our place again & again

I am a bird on the border of what

I am ‘complaining about the clocks’ years old

I am using what I’ve got

3.

we cover the maps with traffic

our children shout in suburban late winter twilight

I am ‘finding the masterpiece mystery inspector attractive’ years old

4.

I am forty-seven years old & have three children & I look it

I am not invested in that statement as proclamation, nullification, or manifesto

we become saints when we are too old for what if

our second miracle is to fuck successfully when we can overhear fox news from across the hall

1.

I am not giving anything up

2.

I am already a saint — having given up most of what one gives up

we have all the marks of winter on our bodies