“Miracle of the River Pig” up at *Goblin Fruit*

My poem “Miracle of the River Pig”new river is live today at Goblin Fruit, and you can listen to me read it there as well!

It’s a grotesque and somewhat experimental poem for me recounting my experience in the Southern California desert near the New River. I began drafting the poem in Brenda Hammack‘s fairytale workshop with The Rooster Moans Poetry Cooperative, while I was also reading Frank Bidart’s “The War of Vaslav Nijinsky.”

I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading! new river 2

" — Selves like iridescent, 
shining, speckled
shit in the Río Nuevo
frothy foaming stinking desert river
desert in the new world — 
how old were you? fifteen & blessed 
as Santa María,
I’m that lucky pig in the river — 
cut my trotters,
strike my blue-butt,
handle me,
sell me at auction,
devour me."

--Jenn Givhan

Read the full poem here.


Another feminist mama poet speaks truth, beautifully

Great read by feminist mama poet, Molly Sutton Kiefer.

“I wanted to write back against this, against the dismissiveness of so much of it, of the way society dictates this narrow image of what normal is: a white woman who has a blissful pregnancy, labors for a bit, births without much hitch, nurses, and becomes radiant-mama. Or becomes working-mama who can also make the dinner and tuck the kids in bed, no problem. She’s still wearing pantyhose. This image is so far from the truth, so far from experience. We all have our journeys and none of them are perfect. Nestuary is just the narrative of my own.”

Read the full article here:


Mama Hulas with the Eggslice Player One Last Time

My poem published at Tupelo Quarterly.

photo credit raw fashion magazine

photo credit raw fashion magazine

“the skate-floor-turned-dance-


just beginning to understand

I was the reason
for her dizziness and egglonging”

–Jenn Givhan


Jennifer Givhan


In a field where a hot air balloon waits tethered,
children balancing umbrellas and wearing party hats

plant birthday bouquets; the swollen bulbs
pushing open the soil where they grow

smell of clay and fingerpaint. Even the sky
celebrates in reverse, hanging like pigtails from a jungle gym.

Not many daffodils or crickets are lucky enough to become fossils,
but here every Btu of heat remains inside the balloon.

How tempting, rather than later,
drifting away now.IMG_0100

An Editor Advised Me to Stop Writing Mother Bird Poems

But I didn’t let that stop me…

My poem, published in Rattle: Poetry for the 21st Century.

Thank you for reading.




Painting by Elizabeth Adele Healey

Writing the Difficult

This September-October, renowned sex-blogger Lauren Marie Fleming (Queerie Bradshaw) and I will be teaching the online interactive writing workshop “Writing the Difficult,” which will Writing-What-Hurts-Hemingway-Quotedelve into the world of writing about complex, controversial topics. From sex to grief, this class will teach writers how to dig deeper and write better. Designed for writers of all levels who want to take their work to the next level, this class encourages students to trust, tell, and share their stories. We will focus on prose-writing (fiction, creative non-fiction, essay/article, and any hybrid).

Until July 31st, the class is discounted to $200 from the original $300, and if you use the coupon code “Jenn,” you (and any friends/students/colleagues with whom you share this information) will also receive an additional $50 off!! Space is limited, so sign up HERE today!

Thank you, and I hope to see you in workshop!

“child, i tell you now it was not / the animal blood i was hiding from, / it was the poet in her, the poet and / the terrible stories she could tell” (“telling our stories,” Lucille Clifton) ♥

What terrible stories do you have to tell?


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