Here are two poems from my book, My Painted Dreams.
old, very old
When I am old, very old,
My body will be like a torn old cover—
Thin, so thin that you can see my soul
Through its shredded pieces.
The poets stand in the rain.
They wear no raincoats.
They have no umbrellas.
They are discussing the shadow of a shadow of a shadow.
But their poetry is already soaking wet—
They have not developed their reality muscles
So they walk with a limp while admiring the color of a vein in a leaf.
The poem below is from my book, A Woman Defined.
When you were not here I missed you and I was hungry.
I am ashamed to admit I ate your shoes and socks.
And I ate your T-shirt, and not only that!
I swallowed your watch on the end table by the bed too!
All that and still I was hungry.
So, with my stomach grumbling,
I sat by the phone silently, hoping for you to call.