Pachamama

Now turn, dance with me
arms up, twirling.
See the clouds building—
you did that.
Look, look
at the hair standing up on your neck,
and the lightning illuminating the sky—
there you are.

Poetry, WritingConner Carey
Blink,

Her spine is intact,
hips wide sway like tree branches
in the breeze and hypnotize.
Somehow she still snuck up on you,
pounced, surprised you. Open eyes —
blink, and the void before you fills.
Eyes close — it opens up again,
blink.

Poetry, WritingConner Carey
How to Write Poetry

Take off all your clothes, sit in the sun, ask questions
no one has answers to. Make one up, scratch it out, make up another.
Do it again until you understand why
no one has an answer to that question.

Poetry, WritingConner Carey
You, Woman

This is for every woman whose hips intimidated men’s heads until her mind wasn’t heard and her heart was fully spent. For every woman who lived but chose to suicide commit. This is for the women who got the shitty end of the stick.