"I'm inspired by my neighborhood, by things people say to me and snatches of overheard conversations, by folks glimpsed in passing on the street or at the store, by the borderlines where cultures bump against each other, and by love, most of all by love."



As a child, I used to creep onto the stairs when my parents had guests over and eavesdrop on the grown-ups. A creak of the stairs would invariably give away my position and I’d be chased back to bed, only to reappear at the next opportunity, hiding and listening. I wanted to be where the interesting conversations were happening. I still want that. Only now the conversations happen all over the country, all over the world, with friends, friends of friends, and complete strangers. Our stories rub up against each other and expand and change in ways I could never have imagined when I was young, and they now include rocks, weeds, fruit trees, cats, stars, and myths from all over the world, as well as all kinds of people. 


If you’re just stopping by to look for a poem or a link to a creative resource, welcome. If you’d like me to present at your conference, give a reading, workshop, or keynote address, send me an email. I am also available for individual consultations at reasonable rates. Otherwise, I’ll be here at home, digging weeds out of the rosebushes, or sitting on a bench at Lake Merritt with my notebook on my lap and my ears open.

             Fig Tree


Offering herself to strangers,

ripe purple ova,

sweet sacks of seeds

soft for the squeezing and tasting--

somebody tell her

not to do that!

Sprawled all over the sidewalk

for any dogwalker to finger,

any old lady, hobbling by on her walker, gets one,

or homeless guy settling in for a smoke,

or surreptitious single mother

with her plastic bags,

her army of climbing kids.

Not very ladylike,

crotch open for a sneakered foot,

a panting embrace,

and all that black honey, oozing.

See how her heart’s left

smashed on the sidewalk

for feral cats to sniff,

her intimate goo underfoot,

pecked by pigeons, swarmed with ants.

Should have pruned her harder,

brought her up short

before she showed her desire so freely

upraised arms opening to sky, profligate

branches that could poke somebody’s eye out:

such crazy need to feed the world.

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"The Chain"


Lyrics by Alison Luterman

Music by Loren Linnard


Read the synopsis and listen

to one of the songs!


© 2014 by ALISON LUTERMAN. Website created by Felicia Gustin with Wix.com

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