Porcupine Hair, poem by Robin Dawn Hudechek (MY MANE MEMORIES Poetry and Prose Series)


, , , , , ,

I was so thrilled and honored to wake up this morning and find that my poem, “Porcupine Hair” was published by Silver Birch Press on their beautiful website!

Silver Birch Press

Robin Age 10Porcupine Hair
by Robin Dawn Hudechek

When my babysitter set down the shears,
I looked into the mirror,
told her I liked the haircut,
tried to sound sincere and couldn’t.

My thick hair, shiny as a blackbird’s wing
when it lay flat against my back
sprouted from my head in spiky curls,
unruly as the weeds shooting up every spring
through cracks in our sidewalk
at the edges of our lawn.

No matter what I did with my brush or comb
my hair stuck out over my ears, under my ears
and the back of my head.
I blamed myself for that awful haircut.

We couldn’t afford a salon cut,
so my babysitter volunteered.
When I tried to describe what I wanted,
waves curling at my shoulders
with a glow only the Breck girl could rival,
she tried to follow my instructions, but failed.
The kids already had enough reasons…

View original post 482 more words

Our Family Pool

I am so happy my poem, “Our Family Pool” was published by Cadence Collective on their beautiful website today!

Cadence Collective: Long Beach Poets


By Robin Dawn Hudechek

I stand tiptoe in our pool,
cool waters rising to my chin.
At four, I love our above ground pool
with its plastic walls and waves
rippling in slivers of sunlight
I can never quite catch with my fingertips.

I am proud of the pool and proud
of my fearlessness in standing alone on a
a bump of lawn covered in pool plastic.
I look up at a cloudless blue sky,
and water cradles my face.
I am almost floating. I spread
my arms, so happy to be standing here
bravely alone and so proud
of my handsome father who is happy
today, and who, if I am lucky
may take one of his running leaps,
from the lawn into the pool
in a graceful dive that sculpts
his muscular, youthful form.
One day he will teach me how to swim,
but for now swaying in…

View original post 113 more words

A Great Week for Me in Poetry!


, , , , , ,


I am very happy and honored that my poem, “With Icarus in a Cloud” was published this morning by Fickle Muses: journal of mythic poetry & fiction! Please check out the wonderful writing and artwork on this beautiful site! www.ficklemuses.com  And on February 2, I was surprised and thrilled to find that my poem, “Clouds” was published on Every Day Poems by Every Writer’s Resource, a wonderful and very useful online site with beautiful daily poems, and lots of other great resources for writers!

Clouds by Robin Dawn Hudechek

His Coat Has Many Colors


, , , , , ,

He is the boy of luminous skin
A flash of wire-framed glasses
dark head over a book, a bent oar, a musing–
impossibly handsome and distant.
I hold his coat in my arms, in my dreams—
his coat: strips of blues and yellows
unwinding in my sheets: silks, fine wools,
Egyptian cottons.
When I watch him from across the room,
I want his long, scholarly fingers, nails unblemished,
to pause over my cheeks, turning pages.

But I am a pane of glass he looks through.
Comments like finger smudges crowd my edges,
an understanding.  Don’t look at her. Don’t talk to her.
When he catches me glancing away from him:
“She really is very pretty,” he whispers to a friend,
“but they are so busy making fun of her, no one notices.”

He thought I was pretty, this boy I had a crush on
when I was twelve in a catechism class that taught us God was
approachable, loving. Maybe for some, perhaps—
my long list of Josephs
who would have let me starve in famines:
those seven years of lean cattle
before they would ever ask me to dance.

And yet, there was his whisper just loud enough for me to hear it:
I was pretty, I was noticed!
Even if now I could not be allowed the simplest smile
or touch of his sleeve.

Robin Dawn Hudechek

Previously published in The Hummingbird Review Fall/winter 2015-2016

Weds., 1/13/16: IDES poets read from their work at The Ugly Mug Cafe in Orange, CA

The Silver Birch Press post about the IDES: A Collection of Poetry Chapbooks reading at the Ugly Mug on Wednesday, January 13 at 8:00 p.m.! Please check out the really wonderful trailer for the book shown on this post. The local poets reading from their chapbooks in this collection are Daniel McGinn, Daniel Romo, Thomas R. Thomas and me. As always, there will be a great open mic reading. Hope to see you there!

Silver Birch Press

On Wednesday, January 13, 2016 (the ides of January!), poets featured in IDES: A Collection of Poetry Chapbooks will read from their work at The Ugly Mug in Orange, California. All poetry lovers welcome! Please join poets Robin Dawn Hudechek, Daniel McGinn, Daniel Romo, and Thomas R. Thomas as they read from their chapbooks included in the 288-page collection.

WHEN: Wednesday, January 13, 2016, 8-10 p.m.

WHERE: The Ugly Mug Cafe, 261 N. Glassell St., Orange, CA, 92866


At the Cadence Collective Reading at Gatsby Books, Long Beach, CA  05-11-15Robin Dawn Hudechek received her MFA in creative writing, poetry from UCI. Her poems have appeared in numerous publications including CalibanCream City Review,Blue Arc West: An Anthology of California Poets, Cadence Collective, Hedgerow: a journal of small poems, Silver Birch Press, Right Hand Pointing, and work forthcoming in Chiron Review. She lives in Laguna Beach, California, with her husband Manny and two beautiful…

View original post 209 more words

Window in Blue


, , , ,

He is chosen for the smallest desk,
the one with the wobbly front leg
that taps the floor
as his crayon touches the paper,
a thin line, each square precise
as it arches into the roof. His houses
are always blue, the people
drawn with weighty heads, legs taller
than the bodies and smiles
which cut across the circles
with nonexistent noses.
He watches the snow gather
in the corners of the window pane
and carefully re-buttons his denim jacket.
The last wall is a thread,
the playground empty except for a few
kindergartners who tumble outdoors, scarves flying.
There is no one to climb the rocket ship.
Its bars, coated in ice,
attract no hanging bodies, no boys
to shove him under the door.
His knees scrape the cement and his hands
slide against broken glass. The sky is white,
whiter than the teacher’s blouse.
“Sit still, Tommy.” His crayon rips the paper,
leaves the last wall dangling,
piercing a yellow cloud. He draws a few spokes,
pine trees on the hill following deer tracks
away from the house, away from the classroom
with its long division and turning pages.

Robin Dawn Hudechek

Previously published in San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly, 65

Bruises Like Flowers


, , , , , ,

Bruises bloom on her body
this one floating like an iris petal
curling above her eyelid,
a warning blow given by her husband
the second time she salted the soup too much.
Her husband took one sip
and slammed his soup bowl to the floor.
Another bruise is a lily pad hovering below her thigh
where once the thigh was exposed to sun
and the eyes of men who saw her for the first time
in a bikini. She was so modern and stylish
she did not even look up when her husband
bunching a towel in one hand,
tossed her a tee-shirt. Cover up now!
They’re looking at your chest
and she dared to peek below her sunglasses
at surfer boys with their laughing eyes
and Frisbees looping in graceful arcs above her head.
Maybe one would land one day.   Maybe one would land now
while her husband was at the refreshment stand
buying yet another beer he would
hide in a paper bag and sip slowly
until his tension spilled over.
She would step off that towel
onto the sand and go with the surfer boys
shouting for her to join them.
She needed only a good wind to lift her
and a Frisbee spacious enough to ride in.
She would gather her skirts like living flowers,
look back at her husband shouting at her
from the open door frame of the beach cafe
and never look back again.

Robin Dawn Hudechek

previously appeared in my chapbook, Ice Angels, published in IDES: A Collection of Poetry Chapbooks (Silver Birch Press, October, 2015)
and in The Camel Saloon

New Release: IDES, A Collection of Poetry Chapbooks


, , , ,

I am deeply honored and so thrilled to be included in IDES: A Collection of Poetry Chapbooks! This is a beautiful collection of poetry by some really wonderful writers, released today by Silver Birch Press!  If you would like a copy, you can order it here:http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0692546464

Silver Birch Press

ides front cover Silver Birch Press decided to celebrate the year 2015 by asking 15 poets to each contribute 15 pages of poetry to a chapbook collection, which we’ve entitled IDES (released on the ides of October 2015). The result is a diverse mix of poetry by authors from coast to coast. Our poets hail from California, Florida, Illinois, Maine, Massachusetts, New Jersey, New York, the Carolinas, and Texas—with one from Canada. Featured poets include:

Jeffrey C. Alfier
Tobi Alfier
Carol Berg
Ana Maria Caballero
Jennifer Finstrom
Joanie Hieger Fritz Zosike
Robin Dawn Hudechek
Sonja Johanson
Ellaraine Lockie
Daniel McGinn
Robert Okaji
Glenis Redmond
Daniel Romo
Thomas R. Thomas
A. Garnett Weiss

As art, we’ve selected paintings by Amedeo Modigliani (1884-1920)—primarily work he created in his prolific year of 1915. A century later, we celebrate him as a visionary artist who accomplished much in his very short life.

A special thank you to the…

View original post 35 more words

Pearls scatter on my bed


, , , ,

from a sky spitting pearls in trails from star to star
then threading them once more into gray wisps
thin as smoke, thin as my hair
where these pieces remain
hidden, constellations in an ocean floor.

Black pearls are as comforting as coffee
grounds when I rub them between my fingers
or large as bowling balls in my dreams.

Seed pearls spill from the trees in snowy fury
or sprout from the ground as dew:
pearls of light upon the leaves.

My pearls are precious, like pearls carried in pockets
filled with holes, the pockets of orphan children who could
never afford pearls in their ears or in their jewelry boxes
where a single pearl rolls like an eight ball from corner to corner
until at last it drops unseen into a remote country,
a pocket of the world no one has mapped out or visited.

Pearls sink into the necks of lilies softened by the act of growing,
pearls are nestling against my palm with its mars and slashes,

my pearls are tiny planets with their own heated cores.

Robin Dawn Hudechek

Previously published in Caliban Online #17