Barbara Ann O'Leary

I stare at the TV news
with the sound off
watch words form
on announcers' lips

cucumbers move me
slicing through raw flesh
sends their scent
down the hall
I emerge from my room
to steal the profits
Mom stabs me with her steely blues

the personal is all that matters

spilling guts is more than metaphor
I grab my abdomen
grown large with grief

Montserrat in the mist
we wander down the wrong path
we retrace our steps
blessed by the accident of rain
beneath a single umbrella

empty drawer is victory

Barbara Ann O'Leary has put down roots in a grove of trees by a lake in Brown County, Indiana. Her poetry has recently appeared or is forthcoming in Aesau, Conspire, The Green Tricycle, KotaPress Poetry Journal and Stirring.


In Posse: Potentially, might be ...