Elephant Hunting

Another student organized writing activity.  Four groups of broad lists (an animal, a color, an illness, etc.).  We named one item from each group and wrote a sentence.  We then had to expand, tying all four words into a cohesive writing.

I chose:

  • something found in a church
  • the name of an ex-boyfriend
  • an animal
  • an illness


elephant hunting

i puked in the pew after he said you have herpes  my mind closed off, going back to when jim flew at night to be with me  i remember he got raging drunk, running around naked yelling i shot the elephant


Robust brine of fecktitude

This piece was the result of a student organized writing exercise.  We picked three words from a bag and had to write them into our work.  Guess which ones I chose?!

That robust hacking sound

a cat makes when backed up balls

of hair block esophagus

Retching, squealing the mass loose

Hair on end as spine contracts

and expands like accordion arms

She stands and stares at regurgitation

ritual, waiting for wad to land on floor,

swimming in a brine of stomach juices,

string strands of saliva and grass

Instead, crimson clumps of rodent hair,

tail and mashed bits of feet

collide on tile

An undigested midnight snack

most likely found behind bag of

stale rice on pantry shelf

Feckless cat she mutters

choking back her own boiling bile

Capturing this mess in bleached

Brawny paper towels.

Clustered Turn

The opposite of his backwards glance

flips that space behind my breast

with a burn

Churning vomit in a spin

Tranced, spinning to infinity towards

the hollowed eyes

Stranger than it seems

He is that stranger

who turns me on my back and pleases

me between the knees

Whispering breaths into my hair

Staring at breasts heaving

Glancing at the turn of events

as we transfer friendship to

primal exchanges

of fluids and touches and breathing

and humping

Knowing that it changes everything

the night sky touches

But never acknowledges the crisp catch

in the air

Separating us between lines of

equity and equality

Balancing the cramps in my

fingers and wrists

As I hide my eyes in shame and

wonder why I didn’t just look down

and turn to walk away.

Give Greetings

This post was a writing exercise completed in Jack Collum and Lee Christopher’s writing practicum course this semester…it is based on Joe Braynard’s work…

I remember

the sour smell of cabbage cooking on Grandma’s stove.

I remember

the hum of her sewing machine.

I remember

the russet photos of her photo album.

I remember

how she’d pick the bathroom lock to make sure I was bathing and not playing.

I remember

wetting her bed.

I remember

hiding in the darkest corners of her closet, not wanting to leave.

I remember

her crooked fingers tangling in my hair.

I remember

the first time I saw her teeth in a glass and worried that mine wouldn’t fit.

I remember

the swish and bang of her back door.

I remember

making gritty mud pies between rows of lettuce and strawberries.

I remember

the hanging clouds of smoke in the kitchen as she exhaled.

I remember

when she refused.

I remember

her wasting away, thinking I was her mother.

I don’t remember the sound of her voice.

I don’t remember her smell.

I don’t remember what she gave me the last Christmas she was alive.

I don’t remember what clothing we buried her in.


I realized today that it has been well over a month since I last posted anything to my blog.  Guilt…with a capital G seeps from my pores.  In my defense – I am taking 11 credit hours of  graduate courses, writing a review for Bombay Gin, applying for a Spring 2013 Student Teaching Position and closed my business after 13 years.

Oddly enough, the urge to write never disappeared.  In fact, I’ve felt more clarity, more inspiration.

Now that I’m unemployed, finished with my review and applied for the teaching position, I can draft up a few of the bits I’ve worked on during class….