Age has found me with a tube of red lipstick, a missing front tooth and a partial I had to…
Browsing: poetry
The history of my hair My curls These grays…. My canas Are the maps of my life Each strand confirms…
I leave the hard liquor and the loud talk, that special pot of New Years’ souse. I seek the quiet…
I do not recognize the hand that grasps mine… Strong, but no flesh-cushion smooths its bony contours. Brown, but bluish…
Springtime returns, burdened with poetry. Tulips nod by the water lily-dotted pool where layer upon joyous layer of color brightens.…
In the crisp clear air of winter nipping at autumn’s backside, the neighbor’s persimmon tree stands two and a half…
Curator’s Statement – Lorraine Currelley It was my honor to curate Mom Egg VOX Gallery, January…
You, little movie theatre in Harlem, two blocks from my home, Do you remember how you took Mama and me…
for Beckett Rose before they took you from your bed inside me, before they made that exploratory sleuce through exoderm,…
The women of my grandmother’s line are cloaked in polished oak. Their nipples bare, silk of budding blooms. I know…