Running throughthe bee swarms,not stoppingto feel the stings.But in the stillnessof my dreams, the welts erupt. Read More in Poetry
Keeping Busy
Calendar
Whose need shapedthis space, placed ithere. Whose prayerframed the field,season and hour.Who remainsto trace the fence-line,breathe the light,harvest the shadows. Read More in Poetry
Book Review: “Cleaving the Clouds”
Margaret Anne Kean’s chapbook, Cleaving the Clouds, is a record-keeping, an elegy, and a deep investigation of grief written in response to the loss of her parents, who passed away within a span of 27 days during the COVID pandemic. At the start, the poems remind me of my first...
A Companion on the Couch
From my hip to knee, she leans in with gentle pressureyet firm intent, her will steady even amidst dreams,my small black and white dog, warm against me.She looks like a giant furry caterpillar in autumnsnug in a spot out of the wind even though hereon our couch together, there is only unmoving restwhile rain tatters... Continue Reading →
Splendor
Were I a pharaohI would take with meinto the next world: these sheetsthat will still hold our smellbecause we have sweated into themtogether for so many yearsthe loose-woven wrap you lovefor how it reflects warmth backdown into rounded shoulders, dry bones,lends you tender protectionthe thin cup my mother usedwhen she sat at the kitchen tableto... Continue Reading →
Lagoon
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Desideratum
Today, I want to think about the clean slate of soil in the garden bed, and the old cat stretched to his max on the living room floor. When will I tire of his incalcitrant incontinence, scoop him off the hard wood and drop his fluff into the grass outside? Does he think about this... Continue Reading →
Early September Dinner Party
A secret ingredient hidden in all the dishes holds us together in fleur de lis, conversation looping,reversing in retrograde, central themes reviving.Frogs creak in the trees outside.Fall's first cold draws filaments to bind us: we are in love, we are all in love, not just withgin or spring rolls, crispy rice, spiced cucumbers. We are thinking about each... Continue Reading →
Alone and Empty
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The Good Ending
Two tired children tucked in bed, motherlovewhispered gently against their cheeks,light switches thrown, quilts tame on couchesmaking lazy hound-shapes in the dark.My feet are sure against the hardwood floor,here a dip due to age, here the cornerwhere I keep my winter crochet and books,each creak an amen, affirmation, home.Simple things: warm kitchen, mint toothpaste.A pilgrimage... Continue Reading →