I’ve been tirelessly dedicated to school, work, internships, research, adulthood type things, and Ant Hills. Ant Hills is, by far, my favorite part of my “To Do” list! At this point I’m editing and preparing to arrange cover art and a few additional pieces. I’m happy to remain with Goddess Works Media Group, LLC. I’ll also have some updates on a few other publications and projects that I’m part of in the upcoming months leading to 2017.
Ant Hills will be available for purchase October 4th, 2016. Marci Sanchez, Goddess Works Media Group, other contributing artists, as well as myself will be posting links for you to grab a copy. I’m posting two poems from Book II and Book III of the Ant Hills Collection. Please feel free to comment and pass the post along. Thank you for support in advance and I’m really super excited about this, I hope you enjoy the dark twisty stories of these young women and appreciate the perspective.
*The layout, the actual structure of the poems in much different than is reflected below.
Ant Hills: Cicadas and Broken Peoples, Part 10
everyone has barbaric tendencies,
we’re all capable of horrific things, like selling overpriced
patent leather shoes, tap dancers would disagree
hope makes fun of me.
late at night she’s being mean, she’s been mean
just before she slips off to a dreamless sleep she
whispers, “don’t you know i’m in love with you”
her voice trails off, somehow we must find beauty in broken worlds
confessing love in broken words, parts of speech, particles
practices, synonyms, sampling happiness, pocketing sensation
attempt I: i tried to jump off the roof of my school and broke my leg
no one talked to me, ever again. father locked me up, “for
our own safety”…everyone wants to be safe.
hope said, “we all do stupid things”
attempt II: pills, popping them, paper pills, a love story
picture ohio, sherwood wrote that story for someone like me
for a year they watched me shower, poop, and pee
hope says, “don’t fucking touch my drugs or i will kill you myself…and it would be
lonely without you here.”
attempt III: stole a car, wrapped it around a pole, a telephone pole
trying to call a god who never responds to anyone i have ever known.
hope tells me, “you’re not asking the right questions”
on the first quarter moon, late last month
hope tells me a tiny newborn truth: i die every day.
the wind starts to howl, begins clawing at the siding of the house
she tucks herself into my bed, presses her body close to me
“can you just hold me tonight”, sometimes we all play the role of the broken peoples.
Ant Hills: Wasps Nests and Placenta Pills, Part 3.
your lip curls into a snarl, breaking silence
with nothingness, hallways have begun to split open
just like your vagina will
cervical walls will splinter,
back cracking pain, blood baby
birthed into fluorescent lights, screams
your groans and grunts, heavy breathing haunting your daydreams
“i read about women who take placenta pills, guess it’s supposed to…”
her voice trails off, like the flutters in your womb, fifteen seconds of fame:
full of baby, whispers escort you down school corridors,
invitations to homeschool for your last trimester: denied.
you long for the companionship, someone to share this pregnancy with.
your breasts smell of sweet sweat, vanilla, you drift into placenta pill bottles
imaging they’d be dark brown glass with fancy metal lids, labels that read:
PLACENTA PILLS FA DAT ASS, you chuckle to yourself
forgetting you’re a moving target, a slow moving target
you pocket your smirk, slip back into invisibility
you curse hollywood for junos and john hughes
moments that don’t exist
your body will bust open, elastic rebound theory,
shifting energies from baby, to body, to stir-ups,
to warm nurses fingertips, swaddled in blue powdered latex gloves,
you’ll forget about placenta pills, forget to breathe, to count,
to melt into your future babyless motherhood
to fade into your post-partem depression,
just in time to be a normal adult.
someday you’ll lick your wounds, you’ll meet a nice boy
to turn into a man, you’ll search for dried placenta capsules
in brown bottles blues, with metal lids labeled: PLACENTA PILLS FA DAT ASS.
you’ll be able to be a normal adult.