All posts in the love category


Published February 12, 2018 by April Fox

Hey now, can you keep me

under the radar, in that spot where the rain falls


Can you be the cloud that rushes me


Hey can you keep me

tucked in your pocket, deep in the dark where your

heartbeat hides

Can you dance with me to the same tune

under the glow

of the dome light, box step back bend you lead

I’ll wait.

Breathe, can you stop my breath

for a second

Can you keep your shit together when I

falter, can you

keep your shit


while the fear leaks out your eyes

and pulls me back

Hey now, can you keep me

for a while

Can I have some of that blanket, can I tuck my head

into the pillow of your shoulder, can I press my


against the bony knob

of your wrist and can you read my mind and tell me

what I mean

Can you keep me under the radar, in the corner of this planet

you inhabit, that you built

can you keep me under the radar, sifting through your fingers

like the sun.


Spot Light.

Published November 27, 2016 by April Fox

In the hallways, we shared stories

of the darkness, passed folded

slips of paper

palm to palm, like contraband

secret payment for the ticket

to get in

We hid in corners, trading

tales and malcontent,

pound for pound, tracing scars and

licking salt

away from skin

The cracks behind the wall

bled our secrets through.

We drowned our boundaries in coffee, sat up until

our eyes bled red and the words

we spoke were smooth

against our tongues

The moon outside the window

was a spotlight

shining in.

Quit Complicating Your Kids’ Questions About Gender and Sexuality

Published April 6, 2016 by April Fox

Every time legislation is passed that has anything to do with civil rights, things like being allowed to marry or use the bathroom in peace or whatever, people start using children as proxies for their fear and lack of understanding. It spreads like a rash across social media, this epidemic of made-up conversations kids are having with the adults in their lives and the resulting deep and moving concern about what to tell the children. “What am I supposed to say when little Khloweei asks about the gay couple in the produce section? How am I supposed to explain transsexuals in the bathroom? My child is too young to be talking about sex!”

Spoiler alert, in case you don’t want to read this whole super-long thing: You don’t have to talk about sex. It isn’t about sex, even. Not at all. I know, it’s shocking, what with the gays and the trannies humping each other all over the bus stop and the amusement parks and shit like that. I know they look like normal people doing normal things with their normal lives, but underneath, totally humping, willy-nilly everywhere.

But really, I’m sorry if you’re confused about how to address your kids’ questions. I’m not belittling that, at all. My kids have asked some things that have made me wish for a time machine so that I could go back and hide in the bathroom five minutes before they decided to ask. Kids ask some intense questions, and some very serious questions, and those should without a doubt be answered. But. (You know me, there’s always a but.)

Here’s what’s really important to remember: children don’t think like adults.

To a small child, everything is new and different. They don’t have decades of experience and context to which they can relate their everyday lives and observations, like we do. Their points of reference are self-centered. I don’t mean that in the negative way it’s often used, but literally: their experience centers around themselves.

And so when you’re standing at a crosswalk beside two men holding hands, you’re taking in everything: They’re adults. They’re smiling at each other, leaning into each other, laughing quietly. One has a take-out box from that fancy candle-lit restaurant up the street; clearly, they’re on a date, and if they only got one box for leftovers, they must be going home together. One man has a bottle of wine tucked into his elbow. They’re going home to drink wine. It’s going to be romantic. They’ll probably end up having sex. That’s what’s running through your head when your child says, “Mommy, why are those boys holding hands?”

You know what’s going through your kid’s head, most likely? Why do those boys have to hold hands to cross the street? They’re grown-ups. Grown-ups can go by themselves. That’s weird. So how do you answer that question? Try something like, “Sometimes people hold hands when they like each other. I guess they must like each other.” Chances are, your kid is going to give you a really insightful response, probably something along the lines of, “Oh. Look, there’s a squashed caterpillar on the sidewalk. Can I touch it?”

When your child asks why Auntie has a girlfriend, he’s probably not wondering why she prefers women to men. It’s probably just the same question kids ask roughly eleven million times a day: Why? Why are my socks blue? Why is that spaghetti? Why is that lady’s butt so big? Why can’t I touch that squashed caterpillar? Why does Auntie have a girlfriend?

And just like above, it’s a pretty simple answer: “They must like each other.”

If your child is old enough that he’s beginning to understand what kind of relationships are more common than others and to notice when things look a little different than what he’s used to, and his question really is about why Auntie likes girls and not boys, that’s an easy answer too: “Some girls like other girls.” If they ask for more, you can give that information without making everything about sex. I’m pretty sure when your kid asked you why you and Daddy got married, for example, you didn’t say, “Well, Snugglemuffin, we just wanted to make sure your daddy would be able to stick his pecker in me every night for the rest of his life.” You probably talked about love and happiness and friendship — and those are the same things you talk about when you’re talking about Auntie and her girlfriend. Easy peasy, man. You don’t even have to learn anything new.

Of course, the big thing now is transgender. Everybody’s freaking out about the transgenders in the bathrooms and Oh…my… Gawwwwwwd what if my precious little snowflake Mhaddisynne Claire goes in the bathroom and sees a person who looks like a man in a dress? WHAT DO I TELL HER?”

Well first off, tell her potty time is privacy time, which is what you should have been telling her since she was old enough to start having a decent grasp of receptive language.

If it does come up, if your little one sees someone with masculine-appearing features in traditionally feminine clothing and says (at the top of her lungs, at that piercing pitch children only hit when they’re saying something that makes you want to crawl into the toilet and die) “Why is that man wearing a dress?” what the heck do you say?

I’ll tell you. If that happens, then you go, like, “That’s a lady.”

And then if your kid is like, “That looks like a man,” then you go, “People look all different ways. She’s just trying to use the restroom, like you are. Go wash your hands. Go. Use soap. Not that much soap.” (Because that’s how bathroom conversations always end, I don’t care if there’s a band of Civil War reenacting drag queens in there, you’re going to say the soap thing. And also, you really don’t know, do you? Unless you’re the weirdo peeking up her skirt, you don’t know that that lady isn’t a biological woman with stronger features than most.)

I’m not saying not to have conversations about gender and sexuality with your kids. These are issues they’re going to face, if not personally, then as witnesses as their family and friends deal with them. But it’s ridiculous to think these conversations have to center around what people do in their private bedrooms or wardrobes. If you wouldn’t talk about the sex lives or genitalia of straight, cisgendered people, then it’s not appropriate conversation-period. As your child gets older, your conversations can become more comprehensive, but when your child is small, your answers about sexuality and gender should be as simple and gentle as conversations about love and death and anything else that you have a responsibility to explain. Don’t complicate it. Teach love, compassion, respect and inclusion, and your simple answers will grow into understanding soon enough.


Published July 30, 2015 by April Fox

And in this sorrow,

we create ourselves:

faces sketched in dull graphite, erased and drawn again

until the lines are blurred and the edges

of our eyes

are indistinct 

and the creases of our mouths

are parentheses, capturing 

all the things we never said. 

In this sorrow, we are written 

indelible and clear

we are paragraphs, connected

We are stories left to tell. 


Published May 31, 2015 by April Fox

He brings me books:

A biography of Elvis Costello;

a notebook from 1932, filled with careful script:

a schoolgirl’s notes on history;

Tom Perotta

and the like.

He sings to me when I can’t sleep,

tells me stories about bars and hidden tables

talks me safely toward the morning,

through the dark. 

He sits across from me

while I read and peel an orange,

an ordinary waking, but still I catch him watching

like I made the sun come up. 



Published March 15, 2015 by April Fox

Give me something to look forward to, she said-

The crease of your palm as your hand curves around the back of my neck, or the stillness that crowds your words when you whisper something no one else can know

Let me be the one to taste the endorphins and whiskey in your voice

When you finally say good night. 

And she raised her face to his, supplicant and small

And in the light cast by his backward smile

She wrote their epilogue. 

On Nico Stai and Falling Stars

Published January 3, 2015 by April Fox

I wonder what happened
to Nico Stai
with his sloppy voice, as if his words were drunk
and he was sober singing, trying
to bring them safely home

He spoke of falling skies and I was trying
to hang on
while the clouds and stars and sun
lay at my feet

You sent me Victor Hugo and I read you Dylan Thomas
and although I wasn’t mad as birds, I must have gone
a little crazy, in the hours I lay restless
stupid sick insomniac
remembering the cadence
of each sentence that you spoke

I built a vault inside my head to keep you in,
away from everything
that hurt

I sent you pictures of the moon
and we were corduroy and woodsmoke,
constellations hanging over
threatening to crash
and burn us up

In the dark, your hand still feels the same
stretched across my back
and in your sleep, you sigh just like you did
the night that you broke free
and kept the sky
from falling in.

Dolls on Independence Day

Published July 4, 2014 by April Fox

Tiny little
plastic parts
Glass eyes, dead stares
blank space where the hearts should be
slender fingers locked in place
grasping something in the air
no one can see
frozen painted lacquered toes
nailed to the floor
in effigy

The screen screams bug ear
faces glaring smiling laughing shrieking
crying out
they are fucking in the laundry rooms
and eating food
off of the floor,
skipping showers, tracks and stones
wearing horoscope protection
prophylactic universal manifesting

God hates everything you are and strangers call me
when the facts destroy their fallacy, the dungeon master
dragon devil
burning them with logic
ripping off their skin
with the acid of

I need the dark, the walls to stay here
solid and secure

(When he leaves, he turns the lights out
locks the doors and pulls the curtains
asks me
can he bring me
cheesecake or a quesadilla
or a huge balloon that says
I love you-

There are fireworks exploding
over the city that I live in
blowing up the world and I am
safe and small inside.


Published May 27, 2014 by April Fox

The faucet’s dripping again.
There’s glitter on my eyes and in
my hair
Four years and twenty days ago you dropped your
smile at my feet and left it there
for me to find,
your skin burned
holes into my life and I bled
ink into yours, marked
we shared a glass, tasted
where we were headed, breathed
the same air and it was
toxic to the world
and we spun hard, crept up on
the night and took it
by surprise
the rest of them knew
and we were blind


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