Jaimee Hills was born in Plainfield, New Jersey in 1979 and earned her BA and MA in Writing Seminars from The Johns Hopkins University, and her MFA from The University of North Carolina at Greensboro. A former editor of Backwards City Review, she now lives and writes in Durham, North Carolina. Her poems have appeared in Blackbird, Best New Poets, the Mississippi Review, and elsewhere. more »
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Jaimee Hills Poems
Like cellar door, Chlamydia. There's melody cloaked in the malady.
When they unearthed my body, I was precious, not for my pretty sapphires, which I lacked, but because life lay still in me. Precautions
Nothing Rhymes with Gitmo
The monoglot might slip on guano- toh-moh. You tell dogs git, and gung-ho handy types'll get her done.
I taped my breasts down; it was livable. Once sworn to be a man, I bade farewell to doll, babe, cupcake, cutie, butterfly,
Lesson on the letter S
S is for sin. I knew what we were in for. How could we exist without an exit? He called me his apostrophe, a she, his little rib.
Comments about Jaimee Hills
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Like cellar door,
There's melody cloaked in the malady.
Forget the cinderblocks, the grimy ground
behind the words, like the brutality
of the rain. Hear its lovely drum, the sound
caught in the downpour.
a clitoris by any other name.
The name as sweet might mean a creeping flower,
petal-clad, wearing the silky plume
of traveler's joy, snowdrift, virgin's bower,
or sating curls.
(whose mother Leda caught it from a swan).
It ought to be the ...