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Memoir
Memory is such an untidy thing; leaves cabinet doors open, clothes on the floor and crumbs on the counter. You can’t sweep it away, and no matter how you try to clean it up, it is what it is.
Jimmy R. and I were drinking at the Carriage House, the only gay bar, at the time, [...]

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An opinion
I’m sorry to come back to Brownsville’s streets as a topic. The poetry and literary discussions on the site are much more to my liking and the readership seems to have broadened out and deepened quite a bit since the shift.
I started this series—not knowing it would be a series or at least thinking [...]

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A poem
Treasure
Search your trash!
You missed the one thing
of true worth.
Where are your shells
And the bones of all
You have consumed.
What odds and ends
you have in there.
Surely they glow and glitter.
And there’s a rhythm
You can keep for life
In your swing and sway.
Why, the ancient ones
Built their Gods
From oysters and broken shanks.
They raised towns
On their dead
And planted lost [...]

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Memoir
Memory is a scourge, unless conflated, synthesized and expressed. All memoirs are fiction. Initials are only used to protect the not-so-innocent.
This must have occurred in 1978, I suppose. NunnaYerBizness was still a working musical concern, and S. and I were winding down from a gig. He was driving me home in that robin’s-egg blue Chrysler [...]

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If you count today, then there are still eight days left in National Poetry Month. That’s eight days more to get that gem of a poem you’ve been hiding in that notebook in the left bottom drawer of your desk out and post it for others to enjoy and appreciate at last.
It’s also the day [...]

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By Patricia A.

Silent Lullaby

under my chin
above my chest
there is a cave
where you can hide

my arms are doors
i’ll locked them tight
to keep you in
inside my cave

your forehead near
a kiss away
so near I feel
tears down my neck

i have no words
except to pray
your broken spirit
in me finds rest

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