Now that I think about it I don't understand the bumble bee, why it wastes time impregnating flowers. I hate commitment, imagine myself coasting around, never stopping long enough to foster growth of any kind. Then I see my nephew,... Continue Reading →
When I was thirty I once ate the moon for dinner. I was a butterfly then, still half connected to my cocoon, left wing ripped, hanging on by its last thread, the other compensating. Doctors never cured me, so I... Continue Reading →
In opposition to you leaving by Kristina England I found the duffle bag of clothes you stuffed when you woke to our day on the wrong side. It happens, but go ahead, shove off. Good luck finding remedies in the... Continue Reading →
This poem is not an autobiography by Kristina England If it was, I would tell you how my nose slants to the left from the time I fell into a marble table while jumping on my grandmother’s couch. How I... Continue Reading →
Poetry Breakfast 