At the Border

Two guards: one thin and quick, the other large and impassive. The quick one leafs through my passport, asks about plans, business dealings. He pockets my passport, smiling cruelly. The big one sighs, retrieves my passport for me and lets me through. [This is my alternate answer to this week’s Yeah Write microstory challenge]

Davis, California

Eleven poems about my pitiful heartache. I looked up at the end to see no one.  Somehow my reading had emptied the joint. I’m through with this city. Or it with me. Whichever. [A mirror cinquain, inspired by Yeah Write’s March poetry slam.  I cheated a little by having three syllables on the first and lastContinue reading “Davis, California”