Viscosity

Viscosity is the
resistance of fluid to
eventual deformation by
 
shear or tensile stress.
Viscosity is due to
friction of opposing
 
parcels of fluid at
varied velocities.
Pressure is needed to
 
overcome the friction between
the layers and keep the
fluid moving.
 
Viscosity depends on
the size, shape, and
attraction between
 
particles. For example,
honey has a higher
viscosity than water.
 
A fluid with no
resistance to stress is
known as ideal or
 
inviscid fluid. This
explains so much about
my life. Am I honey or
 
am I inviscid?
 
4-30-13

Appeared in Pyrokinection, September 14, 2013

Hostage

At work he says to me, "How are you?
The last time we saw you, you ran out on
dinner. We all wondered where you went,
so we held your mom hostage." He jokes,
all smiling up a storm like I'd have an
explanation for him like I forgot my oven
was on or left my wallet at home. But
I know I've seen him since that night
at a work meeting somewhere. That was
almost exactly five months ago and
I don't bring those memories to work
with me. I don't put the train-wreck
feeling on the player at school while
I got my authoritative hands on my hips.
So I change the subject. He doesn't
know what an ass he's being. Sometimes
they just don't know.
 
4-19-13

Appeared in Eunonia Review, November 2013

Pack Animals

Groups of teenage
boys laughing
like hyenas
still make me
grit my teeth and
tighten my grip
as the twelve
year old me
crosses her arms
across her chest,
pushes her eyes
down like a
criminal when
my only crime
was passing them
on the sidewalk.
Boys in packs
are hunters, not
friends and a twelve
year old girl can't
fight back, so she
learns to walk fast
and smile like an
apology but not
like an offering.
 
4-17-13

Appeared in Atticus Review, July 2013 

Song Writer

It so often
starts with music
plucking my heart
strings like a harp

that emotional swell
up like a tide like a
current I can't fight
or don't want to

I just lay back
and surrender, float
along the story sung
by the conductor of my

waiting breath, because
it sinks so much deeper
from the top of my throat
through my inner workings

to my lower central
nervous system, down
to the extent of my toes
and back up my thighs

sound is a gift and song-
sung by voice or guitar
violin or piano keys
I devour it all like a greedy

beast, licking its plate
I have never been
satisfied once, so I
became a poet to sing

in the voice God
gave to all poets, song-
writers without notes
without melody, yes

rhythm still, but music
words-not voice-still
breathe on the page and
inhale deep before the next

line. I am singing.
 
4-15-13

Appeared in Cadence Collective, August 2013

Ramble

I don't have it
it didn't come today

all my thoughts

are disconnected

how loud my cat is purring

I didn't sleep well

I had a crappy day

I miss all my friends

for a hundred different reasons

how unclear my future is

how teaching can be exhausting

I have too much love inside

but I won't give it easy

there are too many tightropes

of going too far

of not going far enough

how I know what I need to do

but can't for the life of me

be the one who does it

I'm always questioning

my honesty

when I should fight

when I should let it all go

I can't stop biting my nails

I can't find a home  

in someone else's heart

we are all compartmentalized

like a bento box

all on the same plate

but always on separate sides

I pulled all my anchors

or cut them or dragged them

either way I'm drifting

even though I own my house

and I have a steady job

I'm so damn independent

I want some more dependence

or a place to rest my head

and hear a heartbeat

that knows what I know

that will anchor me

and I can be home

 
4-12-13
Appeared in The Mind[less] Muse, September 16, 2013

Unknown Employee

I saw a girl at Target, she was
me at twenty-one years old.
She had my blond hair and
simple black-lined eyes,

a red vest and black band   
shirt from Joy Division's
Unknown Pleasures.
Iconic jagged white

mountain lines I once
plastered to my purse.
The image is a badge, I know
immediately, she is cool
 
in the way I was cool
working at Target at twenty-one.
I want to tell her we got
bigger plans, even if you can't

see it now, and that boy,
who torments your soul,
is just passing by. I want
to tell her we end up alright,

and all that confusion might
not get clear, but it settles.
And all that sadness, the
endless sadness fades away,
 
but I give her a slight grin
and muster, "I like your shirt."
I don't know how else to say it,
so I pay and leave for home.
 
4-9-13

Appeared in East Jasmine Review, Vol. 1 Issue 2

Night Birds

At night, late past
twelve, I hear them.
 
Loud chirping birds
clear like night sounds
 
unmuddied by day
droning. They are
 
unapologetic. Sharp-
shouting, "I am heard!"
 
No contest for their
platform, no shove-
 
pushing, first-in-line
claim-staking. They
 
are joyous bastards.
 

4-5-13

Appeared in Eunonia Review, November 2013