Bird Woman and Bloom

sacagaweaSacagawea emerges from the hedgehog cacti
in the lot behind our crumpling house
heavy with cradleboard & mistaken

for a token of peace…

from “Bird Woman

 

 

The boys next door are ignoring my son. burning tree
It’s playground politics, the fragile and shifting
power dynamics of these early friendships…

from “Bloom

Read both poems at The Boiler.

Interview with Rachel McKibbens

Rachel McKibbens Some truth from poet, activist, playwright and badass mama-writer Rachel McKibbens.

“As a Chicana mother, I want to tell the story of myself and my ancestors in ways that guide my children towards the kind of self-love I never had permission to know when I was young.”

Read my interview with Rachel at Mother Writers.

If the Jornada del Muerto had a Trachea*

Won second-place in Blue Mesa Review’s Poetry Contest, judged by Carmen Jiménez Smith.

Child Lambright Elegy 2: Photo Credit Blue Mesa Review

Child Lambright Elegy 2: Photo Credit Blue Mesa Review

Maybe her mama didn’t even notice she too had almost gone away, on the xeriscaping, not breathing nothing

–Jenn Givhan

Read and listen to the full poem here.

Unexpected Visit

Remedios Varo

Remedios Varo

The house turned hearse.

 

Read Jenn Givhan’s poem at Red Paint Hill.

Madhouse of Spirits

Coil by Remedios Varo

Coil by Remedios Varo

I unwrap a bar of amaranth soap

and wash my own mouth

the way Mama used to do when I’d been profane…   

–Jenn Givhan

(Read full poem at The Collagist)

Blood is blood is

How does anyone
love inside skin?

Thankful to Menacing Hedge for nominating my poem “Blood is blood is” for a Pushcart. You can read and listen to the poem in full here.

Photo credit Menacing Hedge Fall 2014

Photo credit Menacing Hedge Fall 2014

Two Poems at Superstition Review

“TimeBrawleyTheater Capsule” and “Junkyard Halflight” up at Superstition Review.

“Small things come back in pieces.
That time of day I wasn’t afraid to close

my eyes. The white flies weren’t yet lured
by streetlamps; the air still held its damp menudo.
On one side of the house, the cemetery

where I buried a stillborn and a marriage
swollen with ditchwater; on the other side,
a landfill.” –Jenn Givhan

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