Mr. Hulbert made my hands shake
Before they even touched the keys.
He said they should be loose as leaves
But don’t be afraid to slam the keys
The piano wouldn’t break.
-M.
Tag: Poem
Sulfur Kiss
We put up with a certain level of
Gross from our lovers and
Farting on each other in bed and
Giggling about it and
Don’t you dare Dutch oven me
Again… Chester!
Can be as intimate as
The world’s sweetest
Sulfur kiss.
-M. Ashley
Find me on TikTok at: MNAshleyPoetry
Colleen Whose Name Means Girl
Maybe I should be out
Loud about it. Maybe I
Should talk. I know it
Sure would have helped me
A lot if the woman they
Kept in a box under the
Bed for seven years had
Been a little more chatty.
“These things do happen. They
Do.” We would commiserate
With each other through the
Knothole in her box and the
Keyhole in the door I was
Locked and chained behind
Also for seven years.
Lucky lucky.
“Colleen,” I would whisper so
The bad men wouldn’t hear.
Colleen whose name means
Girl
“Colleen,” I would whisper
“I get you Sister.
I do.”
-M. Ashley
If you are a survivor of sex trafficking, I cannot recommend the organization Journey Out enough. They have helped me tremendously and I am grateful every day that I found them.
Bad Omen
Deja vu all
Over the place
I’m waiting
For the second
Shoe to drop
Again.
-M.
A Mind Consumed with Love and This
Strawberries in a blizzard
God brings you in
A silver bowl
Red flesh
Red flesh
Red flesh all
The red flesh still
warm from the absent sun.
-M.
How I Drink My Coffee
With milk
only milk
only whole
milk a
middle-aged
no-frills
dairy maid
grumbling into
her cup
“Cows these
days get
up too
damn early.”
-M.
What I Will Miss When I Die
I might miss caring when I’m dead
doing back flips with my horny god
in the ether I may stop
my glory gathering around me like
fireflies circling the mother fire
for a blink I might miss
wondering how my loved
ones are getting along without me
I might miss the cozy straightjacket limitations
of the short view on death
I might miss the exhilaration of
dread not knowing what
freedom lies in the Great Beyond
But then
I’ll get over it.
-M.
Say Brave Things
This mirror is your wishing
Mirror—everything brave
You say to your face comes true.
-M.
Hibiscus Kissed
This January hibiscus bud
Kissed by absence of color
My albino fingers exploring the
Hard petals the shy face of
A goddess willing to be
Searched blindly by the blind
Whose blindness comes from
Looking too much into the light.
-M.
Photo Poetry: Perfect Winter
My neighbor’s yard man runs
the mower over what is essentially
prickly dirt. I stand watching
under a bare tree whose branches
curl a come-hither. I notice myself
conspicuous and pervy watching
the yard man, my fidgety hands in
my pockets. This would all be perfect
Southern California Winter—me,
bare tree, pockets, pervyness,
yellow yard, yard man outrunning
the mild chill. All perfect had all
these things not been dead
since Spring.
-M.
M. N. Ashley 