“I’ve gotten fat,” I said. “Not fat,” says my Mom. “Not fat,” says my boy. “Not fat,” says another fat chick. “You’re fat,” says the chart. …well shit. I’ve eaten and moved Most well in my life. I exercise way more Then just once or twice. I eat all my veggies, My fruit and no … Continue reading I’m Fat, by a thirty-something
On the highline walk A tightrope, a drop, You are my other side, The flat top And a ladder To the ground. In the scraggy desert All dust and crust, You are my shade, My soft brush, And a burst Of watermelon. In the mad run Dripping sweat, grating air Falling behind--always behind, You are … Continue reading To my Hubby
No color flows from my fingers. I am an arm that moves A foot that steps Keeping the foundation Contained, But I am not the house. I am not the light Nor am I the mirror Just a curtain To make it more Comfortable. Why did I ever dream Of taking form Or flying high … Continue reading Painter Hands
Moving from Utah to Alabama and it's more or less to pieces.
A peek into my smartphone---oh, the invasion of privacy!
I often stand On the old pecan field Grazing the newest grass. I know better then To dig in deep For truffles Or winter roots. For the moment I leave A print in the earth My time there will ‘come Unsettled. I’m told it’s to hide The dirt that’s inside Is shoddy And of shallow … Continue reading The Old Pecan Field
Tell me what I’m not getting. The ‘enough’ I need to give. Trace the path that I must walk To get to where my heart's been. Brush back my hair and whisper truth So I’m not led to lie Clear my ears To see the wind And where it blows me to. Don’t leave me … Continue reading Stranded
Car and Fuzzy Have to be In the same room As him. Three is all About tragedy. The other The elder Is older now. The first baby I ever held Now rides a bike And sasses back Because Mom Says no To more robots. The first The man Who holds me close Dreams of the … Continue reading My Boys Right Now
He’s tired. Please, wake me up So I can go And lift the world He trembles through. I’m supposed to be The arms that hold Through death and pain Through naught and gold. He’s tired. We try the floor We try the air, This blanket’s thin I really do care! Is it working? I wouldn’t … Continue reading He’s Tired
Tell me, skyscraper, How do I look from up there? I, one of many, Who can’t touch your clean air? Do you even bother To lean your shadow aside To not crush the ants That walk at your side? Tell me, sky scraper, With your brow in the clouds, Why do you bother To care … Continue reading Skyscraper
Author T.S. Lowe 