poetry - art - blog

hera poems

Hera VI


My mother was built from faux wood paneling

and my father just loved to rattle her walls, such a

small room he kept her in, loved to force his big

shoulders through all her doorways, thunder and lightning

from living room to kitchenette to everyone knows where,

and dinner gets cold on the counter, or already was,

and me and my sisters and the TV and baby brother all

sitting on the couch like stones wrapped in swaddling,

somebody’s on the news, every forty minutes the same

reports, what I learned then is everything repeats, what

Demeter learned is trust the hands of women, not of,

never of men, what Hestia learned is the room is never

small enough, until she just crawled right into the fireplace

and stayed there, and Zeus—my sweet brother, moon-

cheeked child just thought whatever his parents did

was right.




1 A clear sky is its own kind of storm.

You know what I mean. Shines

like it’s got something to say

a fight to start

bulks up its shoulders to look bigger

this city is designed to be cold & windy

today the sky roughs us up

& undresses


2 Like she always,

my mother would

have known better.


3 it was all a line of course.


4 I have been called beautiful many times.

I have been called pretty exactly once.


5 Zeus is a man made out of thunder

Zeus is a man made out of thunder

Zeus strikes sparks off the surface of his own skin

Zeus is a man made out of sound

Zeus thunder thunder thunder thunder thunder

very loud


6 Bad luck bad 7 luck bad luck.


8 have known better


9 What if the air mattress explodes

and we disappear? or we fall backs flat on

the floor? What if no more air? What if

he is so heavy I cannot help but orbit?

What if he gets up to pee

and I become the heaviest thing on the bed

and I sink into the hole of myself

and I keep sinking

and I never ever ever ever make it out?

What if I am still not the heaviest thing

on the bed? What if


10 I was the best speller in my ele

mentary school. I read a lot of books.

When I wrote

stories I would start with the title.

Agonize over it.

Everything after that was easy.


11 pretty exactly

once a clear sky


12 Rum makes me sleepy

vodka unstable

two dark beers wake me up

often I feel more myself

when I’m drinking, faster on the draw

and more willing to fire.


is either the exception or the rule.


13 what would my mother have done?

after that


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