Author Archives: seemareza

Calcutta

My father left behind movie theaters of decaying grandeur; red carpets gone black, grimy chandeliers half-lit at intermission double matinees, afternoons spent with strangers He left rickshaws pulled by sinewy men, who carried him through crooked streets to stand in front of faded facades and speak the names of people long gone He has left…

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Cutting Diamonds from the Sky

The day is winding down, so I’m trying to write this poem before I miss today. My father and I went to fly a kite on the roof. When other kites appeared from the field across the road, he took the spool into his own hands told me that some people covered the string with…

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Oldsmobile

In the navy Oldsmobile wagon With auto windows and wood panels My father drove me to school and I sat in the rear-facing seat He drummed his fingers on the skinny vinyl wheel, sometimes pretending not to hear when I shouted music requests Over the velour upholstery of the empty seats between us I looked…

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Learning to Drive

When my father taught me to drive I leaned on the the gas pedal with one foot and pressed the brake with the other, until he told me to let go. The car was diesel, loud and wide and I was always anxious about the far side, the side I couldn’t see. Driving along the…

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National Poetry Month Starts

It’s been nearly two years since my father died suddenly.  And I’ve been dealing with it in little bits–waiting for the right time to face it head on.  But every time I’m confronted with another loss, I realize how fragile this approach makes me.  And I realize that there will never be a right time…

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By the Eternal Bonfire

Last night the world lost a poet who was much bigger than he ever acted.  Walter Butts taught me things about the nuts and bolts of poetry in the gentlest way possible, showing me how to use poetry in new ways to survive darkness.  At a time when all the grief in my world seemed…

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Literary Star

I feel like my last post was so lame.  Like who gives a shit, right?  But when you’ve devoted a website to yourself, you have to put stuff about yourself on it, obviously.  But who am I expecting to read it?  No one I guess, especially when Jezebel, (that vortex of things I was sort…

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When I say I am a mother

 I led several writing groups using Michael Anthony’s “American Soldier.”  The poem is among many brilliant pieces of writing in Warrior Writers’ most recent anthology, After Action Review (check Warrior Writers out here).  This prompt came from Lovella Calica of Warrior Writers and it really got people going–we were even able to put together a little…

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Telling a Story

Last week I told a story in front of an audience in the Story League Competition Series at Busboys and Poets.  I’ve read in front of more people, I’ve definitely spoken in front of more people, but this was a level of anxiety unparalleled.  Maybe it was the absence of the security of a podium and…

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