Category Archives: Fairytales


Kiss Me Down by the Broken Tree House


Plenum Week Two! Fairy Tales




It’s the visceral connection. The impending death. Fairy tales of past are not worlds we could imagine leaving our kids in. Yet, we remember these stories.

In creating these narratives that “[are] not true, nor could ever possibly be true,” we define and re-define ourselves. We are human and humane, connected and creative.

Come and unleash your goblins and elves here at Plenum Pleasant Horrors of Fairytales Inside the Belly of the Wolf, my week of our MFA’s graduating capstone project.

Vertical Interrogations (and my graduating capstone) part I

Watercolor, salt, glue

Watercolor, salt, glue

These questions. Questions in line with Bhanu Kapil’s method of asking people about their lives which really, really crossed borders. Please click on the link to answer the vertical interrogations. You will be amazed by your creativity, humor, and tenderness. [click on the reply number in the gray circle to add your response]. Have fun. Write something today.

The River Games

(Photo credit)

A Sabrina Orah Mark Style Imitation

When Samantha fell off the roof, the woodsman gathered an iris, the truth, and a yellow moth. He wondered if the junction would occur on Thursday of next week. The queen of a hundred lakes exclaimed with sympathy and licorice. He untangled his boots from Samantha’s white tendrils, feeling a bit embarrassed and underdressed. It was evening. The soldiers would be playing cards by the fire right now.

I heard the woodsman’s toes etching red diamonds on the moth’s left wing. Blood pricked my fingertips. Whether it was one of Samantha’s beaks. Whether the crown bounced off the glass window. I wasn’t sure. Chip after chip…the soldiers upped the ante.

Driving in to Town

I didn’t catch any fairies–no wings to pin down in my collection box today. Instead I was Rapunzel’s hair flowing 75 mph on the H1 freeway heading into work.



When your fingers wrap
around mine
I am a field running
to hug the open swift wind.

When your lips find
mine, I am a nebulous pocket
of air giddy beneath the
weight of the sea.

When you enter me,
we swim in unison,
and we heartbeat in time,
I cannot think,

Of Vanity

Of Vanity

And the Great White Tern granted the old woman one wish: “To return to
my youth and arm myself with wisdom instead of beauty.”

By and by, the old woman recognized her feral spirited youth on the surface
of the reflection pool. One cast a disdainful look upon the other’s rawness.

The old woman unsheathed her knife and hacked off her long white hair.
Her proffered knife plunked through their barrier. The taunting youth,
mocked her actions, and hurled at the old woman that which could
never break the surface.