Marie Anzalone's Blog, page 16

Unsafe Space

IfI told you that this thingthatyou told me  tokeep hidden away hasbecome fluid gold and isflowingout of every crackand crevice, lookingfora mold to pour itself into,toshow me what it wants tobe, if I looked at you in one ofour stolen afte..

Essay: Me, too, Emma

in response to Emma's brave poem. You are not alone, my dear. Never alone.

These Early Years

Today,it rained. And I was thinking of you. Waterfell hard. Like pebbles. Likelittle hopes andsilly daily fears. Water splashed upwards-fromthe ground- in those miniatureearth-scentedvolcanic eruptions,andI was thinking of you- your hands,thegale force of ..

21st Century Accomplice

IThere is you, with the mirror,standinginside, looking out.  Yourun your fingers in wavesthroughyour indignation;arrangingeach strand of disgust, tryingto cover that receding visceraldiscomfort line,thebaldness of shame. Thedecades of lost opp..

Regarding Brokenness

Itis inevitable-Lifewill break you. Weare fragile vessels,carvedof karmic clay, cosmiccrystal. We ring likeTibetan bowls whenexalted;we fracture, likediamonds,when struck. Hopeis what leaksfromcracked walls andfoundationsandwindows ..

They shot a Woman Yesterday

Theywere aiming for the driver, buthe saw them. He knew to duck. Shedid not. Shewas just a passenger.Shewas behind him. Shehad a baby in her arms.  Ihave not kept good count;Ithink he would have been aroundthe 10th this year, justi..

Earthquake 8.1

when Life hands you earthquakes... create poetry??

Being 17

Thatwas the summer we practiced thefine art of sharing space-ina 3x5 army surplus tent, our shieldagainst bad dreams, our portalintothe mythical emerging adult world.  Thehorses were as hard-headed andfearless, as we were- andwe galloped them all ..

Blackout

Theysay, when the end comeswewill get almost no warning;Wemight see a few rockets onsocial media, a few people asking,“is that photoshopped?”or,“this is fake news, right?”Tenminutes later, the lights go out. Lastnight, ..

Sizing

Thewoman looks at me, saystothe hotel owner, on the phone,“She’s a gordita; I don’t know ifshe can walk to your place.” andsomething inside me shatters againinto 1000 pieces. Iwant…Ormaybe I don’t know what..