My Writing
I am a published poet, essayist, and fiction writer. Among recognition I’ve received are the Dobie Paisano Fellowship for Texas Writers, an O. Henry Award, a Texas Literature Grant and a Community Sabbatical Grant from the University of Texas Humanities Institute, among other honors. A graduate of the Creative Writing program at Brown University, I have been a fellow at Yaddo and the Montalvo Arts Center. Here’s some of my work:
“Memos from Afar” in A Fire to Light Our Tongues: Texas Writers on Spirituality.
“David Joseph” Poetry Month at Austin Public Library.
“Confidence” Poetry Month at Austin Public Library.
“House Concert” in Friends Journal.
"Becoming a Boy," It's a Boy: Women Writers on Raising Sons.
"Unemployment Benefits," Three-Ring Circus: How Real Couples Balance Marriage, Work and Family.
"Bob Marley is Dead," Mother Knows: 24 Tales of Motherhood.
"If This Were a Beaded Object," O. Henry Prize Stories 1995.
"Pretend" in Grrl Talk: Sass, Wit & Wisdom
Some Poems for Your Grief Journey
Grief
The tiny lemony leaves of thyme
still hold drops of last night's rain
I want to strip
root vegetables
of their ugliness
carrots, onions,
small potatoes
and beets
I want to walk through the world
with my hands stained
with the blood of things
that flourish
in winter.
I Am from Women
Who trim buttons from worn clothes
wood, abalone, bone.
Who keep the ironing board out,
know power by pressing hot weight
sprinkling from a green Coca-Cola bottle
to create order.
Who arrange their lives
at the kitchen table playing
ten kinds of Solitaire.
Women who feed the stray
and when she wanders or dies
call the new one the same name.
Who take their children
to an orphanage
for childcare, who keep
a hammer and knife
in the sewing drawer.
Named Bethany, Ethel, Helen, Ruth, Augusta
but called Betsy, Billie, Helen, Swense, Gussy
and too many last names.
Who do not unlatch the chain,
no matter who is knocking.
Metamorphosis
Let the world change you. Let the waves
howl under your window. Let it
smooth you down to nameless driftwood.
Let it wash you rough, break you into sharp
stinging edges, push you out, draw you in,
drive you out past hope
into pitiful darkness, surprise you
with dawn over a Styrofoam island.
Let the world join you, afloat alone,
as a company of slick dolphins
who seem to know you. Let it follow you
from a distance, curious cautious world.
Look over there! Look at it making love
with itself, churning juicy blue stew.
You knew this might happen, this broken bone
of your life. Wake up before
the alarm, lie there listening in the dark
for the world first whisper. Get up, feed it.
By Robin Bradford