Poetry by Patsy Creedy

      ​Rich Carstensen CC




They Were Talking About Transformation


When they complained about the fire
Wanting to know who did it was the tragic flaw in the argument

Tapestries, lines of woven gesture always hovelled
Embodiment based on the making of more

River running clear rarely frozen where their sun is
Flow powered in speech and its inevitable collapse

Every mistake is the same mistake
Like rings on your tree

The past an insistent Corona of gold 
Around her body given in the name of history

Violence and love in each out breath
Yoke of bread and the range of possiblily

Every heart that is and remains
Must be split open 

Cracked like the crust of your being
When you know what it is to be born






God is a Mollusk


God is a mollusk
Or a shiny black fly
God is the girl 
Crying in the bathroom
Fixing her face
Pity the currency 
of an abandoned country 

God is asleep 
With the dog on the bed
Dreaming the wonder of
The brown chickadee 
On a new green branch
In the neighbor’s yard
Hummingbird at the window
You know it knows you

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Patsy Creedy is a native Californian living in San Francisco. She worked for many years as a delivery room nurse, helping women birth their babies. She has published two memoirs, “Boy, Man, Bird, Anatomy of addiction” and “Without her, Memoir of a Family.” She has also published poetry and creative nonfiction in several publications, such as Inlandia, RKVRY Quarterly, Transfer, eMerge, NiftyLit, The Forgotten Poet, Blue Mountain Review, Your Golden Sun Still Shines, San Francisco Stories, Rumors, Secrets & Lies-Poems About Pregnancy, Abortion and Choice.