She said she was from Venus. Here on Earth
they force-fed her cocaine and alcohol.

All she really wanted was a drink of water,
but they wouldn’t serve that to me, either.

She wanted to know if I could see the Southern Cross
from my country, mistakenly believed to be Spain.

I said, “No, the Crux is not in my night sky.”

She demanded to know if I believed in God.
I said, “No, but I really would like to.”

(I really would)

She asked me if I would talk to God for her.
I told her I was going to be on a plane in a few hours,

and I could holler her message out the window
as I went soaring past the moon. She said,

“Please ask him to send more gentle and
interesting people here from Spain.

It’s so awful here, I will be
going back to Venus soon.”

 

(Originally published in The William and Mary Review)

 

you only see me
if you see me
on my good days

on my bad days
I never make it
out of bed

the covers
too heavy to lift

the gravity
of each moment
immense and
inescapable

it is all
that I can do
to lay there

harmlessly

buried alive
by the hurt
by inadequacies

by the real and
the imaginary

all day
I struggle so hard
not to be
the defeat

so dim
so cloudy

then I try again
the next morning
and the next

and the next

 

 

 

they had to pump my stomach
in the emergency room
last night

it was full of
tears

the doctors looked at me
quizzically
and i just said
well
i have been swallowing them
for years

 

 

There was a tin
of mustache wax
on her nightstand

and
all I could think
was

well,
this will
at least be
interesting.

 

 

(Originally published in deLuge)