Happy 2016 – A look back; A look forward

Happy New Year, Everyone!

First of all, I want to thank you so much for being a part of my blog and supporting my work.  I am humbled to have my blog supporters.  Your support encourages me. It means a lot to me.  Thank you so much!

I also want to extend a great big thanks to all the editors and journals that I have worked with over the past year (and into 2016, as well!).   I have had 23 acceptances this year.  17 of which were published in 2015; 6 will be published in 2016.

If you have a moment, please check out these great editors and their journals.

Thank you so much for allowing me to be a part of your year.  I hope to share more writing with everyone in 2016!
Creative Nonfiction:
“The Important Things” – Alaska Women Speak – Winter 2015 issue

Fiction:
How to Eat a Bagel – 50-word Stories – Sept 15, 2015

Poetry:
“Femininity” – Cirque – Summer 2015
“Sitting in the Bathroom” – Yellow Chair Review – July 2015
“A Happy Poem” – Eunoia Review – August 2015
“Willow Rebuilds” “Spectators” “Fire Angels” – Alaska Women Speak– Fall 2015
“Dark Clouds Descend Low” – Three Line Poetry – Issue 33 – Sept 2015
“Da!” – Peeking Cat Poetry – 8th issue – Oct 2015
“Three times my baby’s stroller passes by” – Eunoia Review – Oct 2015
“Babushka’s Samovar”, “If I May Speak”, and “High Tea and Fancy Things” – Alaska Women Speak – Winter 2015 Issue
“Joanna’s Child” – Cirque – Winter Solstice issue 2015.
“Away with the Bitterness!” – Peeking Cat Poetry – 9th Issue – Dec 2015
“Away with the Bitterness!” – Alaska Shorts (49 Writers blog) – December 22, 2015
“The Reflex”, “The Drop Off”, and “Crossed Eyes” – Eskimo Pie – Feb 2016
“The Fragments You Carry”, “The Fireweed Dies”, and “Crabapples” – 13 Chairs – Spring 2016

 

Throwback Thursday

A poem published in Cirque this summer.  Enjoy and check them out!

Femininity

With my femininity under my arm,

we hustled down the dusty

shell of a broken college town,

past the crooked props

that used to sell feed

and pens to students, where

I offered my femininity to my fiancé.

He refused it.

Passersby frowned and jeered:

The wrinkled grape thought it was

best suited for a child;

Her charge thought that I was just too old.

A fluffy pink, the doll’s dress was

–with pink bows, of course.

Blonde with pigtails, the hair was

–with tight curls, of course.

Shattered sidewalks failed

to absorb the shame,

as my femininity receded

into my ragged college jacket along

with my spent youth

and thrift store receipt,

only to allow patches of its plastic

head and feet to emerge

when I least wanted it.