Yvonne Amey

Yvonne Amey holds an MFA in poetry from the University of Central Florida. Her poetry, fiction, and nonfiction have appeared in The Cypress Dome, Vine Leaves Journal, Bending Genres, 50Gs, The Los Angeles Review of Los Angeles, Dum Dum Zine, The 2River View, M Review, and elsewhere.

Currently, she resides in Central Florida with her rescue dogs and, for fun, she teaches college literature.

•

► Yvonne's microchap & selected poems are available below.

Origami Microchap
The Best Tragedy We Could
Click Title to Open Microchap Cover: Bear in Yard by JanK •	The Body You Have Reached is No Longer in Service you are not a memory but a breathing body reposed across my chest so i shop for $200 dollar lotions (the same ones that dotted your vanity) with the inheritance you left layer these thick creams across my skin your scent shadowing me we should be on holiday beverly hills our bums planted on the fountain’s rim the sun working overtime freckling our faces little miles is surgically repairing his wounded bicycle he reminds me about the tme you broke your ankle bowling when the doctor asked you if you had a cough we thought he said do you have a coffin? i miss you	I will write a poem on the back of the back of my family which will end up being their chest & I’ll give this poem a gutsy title— one with real Alanis-Morrisette-backbone & place it in the Poconos & there will be a flashlight in the poem & I’ll pour moonlight onto the forest’s limbs & the poem will wear an autumn-orange woodsy tone & the three of us will be on fire—figuratively brother G & me with dad alone together & alive safely tucked inside our sleeping bags & tent & I will place burping bullfrogs & lake water lapping a shallow shore & I’ll watch dad & G fall asleep breathing in rhythm with this poem's mood which is always November & rhymes with how much I love them. • The Best Tragedy We Could “A group of bears is called a sleuth” —Yellowstonebearworld.com We stopped warming our fur against each other’s throats. We stopped licking one another’s wounds. It must be the 90s that defeated us. Our mouths are full now. Our bones, calcium-strong. Our claws file smooth against the grain of a tall spruce that hinges over mother’s window. Oprah must know the name for the silence that fissures families. Silence is a type of stillness, I assure myself. The kind that exists when I’m shopping for lugnuts and the clerk behind his register tells me he killed a guy once. • Yvonne Amey © 2020
Little Debbies
Click Title to Open Microchap Cover: 'Cristo' by Lauri Burke - Every microchap may be downloaded for free from this website.	Little Debbies I want to visit your home and eat your Little Debbies. I want to hand clean your Frigidaire and some other small appliances then [turn on some music] I want to hang from a wooden ceiling beam next to the corduroy La-Z-boy and watch you dial 911. ● Yvonne Amey © 2018 Nominated for Pushcart Prize	Unworkshoppable#2 A clown lamp in the middle of a tent; a tent hammered into the floor of a cheap hotel; a chainsaw in the arms of a weatherman; an 8x10 of dad hanging from the rear view mirror of our Plymouth Voyager; saddle shoes on the feet of an otherwise sensible otolaryngologist; maybe the way you always let me choose the TV channels is why I can't live with myself; an ice storm breaking apart my limbs; a heart beating inside a transplant cooler; a sister still looking for her brother's clown lamp. ● Yvonne Amey © 2018

Poets