Poetry by Valerie Egan
common courtesy: remember it exactly – before the festival of exaggeration, plausible reasons, and accusation. small happiness, close to my heart - and we were alive, savoring words – the briefest touch – the most delicate, the most burning of course before we three; the dancing dead with grinning skulls and bruised thighs; I haven’t worn well out in public my words are displaced they never make sense they told the wrong truth I lie still, I lie down, I would lie down again and again. I ache to re-take my broken whore’s crown
Valerie Egan is an affable, creative type who by day works in non-profit arts administration, and by night scribbles poems and pictures in the dim light of her uninsulated attic. She has been published in the Dragon Poet Review and Oregon Humanities magazine. Occasionally her visual art will find its way onto the walls of a forward-thinking drinking establishment in her hometown of Portland, Oregon. She is drawn to the dark, the absurd, the beautiful, and cute lil’ kitty cats. Enter her world at Valerie Egan, Creative Type.