Inside my old man’s feet are feetof a boy. (I can’t say small; Iwas never small; 12 pounds at birth.)These invisible feet remembersensations I’ve forgotten:The mystery of the squishy bottomof the creek behind our house,black-eyed bodies swarming,slippery—some day they would be frogs.The tickle of blowing dustadding a layer to shoeless feetinches away from home plate,a... Continue Reading →
My right foot snags a forsythiaroot, trip and fall, a bone cracks--an injury only time will heal,similar to a broken heart.I'm unsure if hearts ever healcompletely, scars of battles fought beforetrying to present myself as courageouswhen inside hides a child missing. Is it so wrong to be human,a human filled with faults, a contributorfar too... Continue Reading →
perfect pancakesthe maple tree takes a bowin the morning windthrift store shopperwhose shoes do you walk innow that you've walked a mile Read More in Poetry
Like almost every late June nightin Louisiana, this one’s filledwith a sky thick with sweat,and my legs churn as I chaseafter the little fliers that carryblinking lanterns in their butts.The open mouth of my Mason jarhas high hopes of catching lights.I see a silhouette that looks like motherstanding inside the screen door motioningme to come.... Continue Reading →
No matter how many steps I take along Front Street the banyan limbs seem to follow. Hundred-year-old Hawaiian trees have a history to honor. The sparkle of stars fallen into the ocean glitters across its surface; if I close my eyes I see Las Vegas, driving in at night from the Boulder City/Henderson side of... Continue Reading →
Nights the place would glowwhite like a glass spacecraftwith every interior lightturned on while landingin the Mohave at midnight.And she was therein pink uniform, pen and padin front pocket, pot of coffeein hand, and interest in her eyes.An all-night diner isn’t homenot the type of home most understandbut a feeling of escapinginto a non-reality of beingsomeone... Continue Reading →
It's so beautiful says the younggirl to her mother, and mistfrom her breath creates an angelon the clear cold glass of the windowas they peer out and watchold man Ford across the street shovelingsnow that has collapsed from a wintry skylike a 10-story building fallingin an earthquake, crumbling across his drive,his avenue of escape for... Continue Reading →
I wonder, are the plastic flowers dying?The daisies' heads look like they are lower oris that my head that is bowed?Am I looking up at flowers? Uh, oh.Am I dead?No, I still feel the pinchof inflation.I still cannot see up closewithout glasses, I still feelcold and trapped by retirement. Should Ipush up the heads of... Continue Reading →
The first thing to purge is plot.Poetry is not why you feel but howyou feel,how mother wore a flower-print dressand stood at the back screen door,while you hammered pegs into plastic,seated on the kitchen floor,and didn't see what surely must have beentears streaming,and didn't hear what surely must have beengasping sobs,all you knew was the... Continue Reading →
I never cared much for hanging around.The picture is my father.Photogenicity was not in the genesinherited, but I am tallerthan the other kids who sat at the tableThanksgiving days. A motherwhose large family lived nearby,and one indirect auntwhose cigarette dangled clandestinely, while the family,in their Christianity, awkwardly but of necessitypretended not to see the stomped-out... Continue Reading →
