April Fox

Category: asheville poetry

April 28, 2015

Mother Whore and the Monsters on the Hill

…they are children playing dress-up in the whore mother’s clothes. Dirt track spreads her legs and welcomes everybody in, tries to make her face a little prettier…

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April 17, 2015

Waiting

Old friend, long lost left behind All the ugly things you never wanted are right here, in the palm of my hand waiting to be given back to you.

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april fox, Asheville poetry, nc poetry, waiting
April 15, 2015

Watching the Sheep

I asked him, where are the bullets kept? all dolled up in my Sunday best bedroom shoes and a battered old nightshirt He looked at me, puzzled they’d be in the bedside table, I guess if we kept bullets, or a gun in the house. So I went about my daily life painted my nails…

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April 15, 2015

Spring

If the fear doesn’t get me the winter will, freeze me out of myself until I crack and drown below the surface Each turn of the page pulls me closer A spiral drawn in shades of black and grey So for now I’ll sit and watch the rain, watch the world come back to green…

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April 9, 2015

Optimist

I’ve never been an optimist but I was hopeful once. Now I sit and watch the world, gather clues and tuck them in my pockets so later, when I need to I can pull them out, examine them and make the way make sense.

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april fox, Asheville poetry, nc poetry, optimism
April 3, 2015

Houses

All along the back roads in Virginia (and elsewhere too, the scenery a patchwork quilt stitching states together, miles of wood and pasture gingham strips in greens and browns) the houses rise up from the ground, planted years ago, crops forgotten in the avalanche of mega malls and mini marts, looking like the women, old…

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March 15, 2015

Epilogue

Give me something to look forward to, she said- The crease of your palm as your hand curves around the back of my neck, or the stillness that crowds your words when you whisper something no one else can know Let me be the one to taste the endorphins and whiskey in your voice When you…

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March 14, 2015

Snakes

There is a house full of snakes waiting to devour us fangs slick with the ejaculate of televangelists and politicians, bellies fat with power and the scrawny limbs of dying children, sacrificed for the greater good, gently laid to rest before an altar draped in patriotic cloth and the stench of soggy dollar bills wet…

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February 15, 2015

Comfort Station

…breathing in the beauty of mold and rot and meatloaf…

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January 31, 2015

January 31 2015

In my trunk there is a photograph of me at age fifteen, one of my daughter at three, and my grandma’s cookie jar. There is a bag on the seat next to me with bits and pieces of her life taken from her bedroom. I haven’t looked inside but I reached in and felt a…

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