Poet Dreaming No sky could hold so much light. —Mary Oliver Poems are nomads paddling through darkness collecting words from the arms of Orion, Sagittarius, and Perseus before camping in a poet’s dream. She sees souls as colliding galaxies, holes... Continue Reading →
The Cottage I've grown quiet here. My mind has opened to woodsong and the smell of earth turned by a trowel. I enjoy solitude, even when regrets or the throb of an old lover happen by. Sometimes I invite them... Continue Reading →
On Being Twelve When I was twelve I longed for the sleek Schwinns My friends rode to roam the neighborhood. They were shiny, swift, and cool With skinny tires and three-speed gears To help with hills. An adolescent status symbol... Continue Reading →
an ode to an hour alone do you remember when you broke because you didn’t want your mom to know you were crying? you waited until she left the house with your sister, to go to a volleyball game. you... Continue Reading →
Water Damage We sit on the driftwood and write our names in charcoal. You tell me about chemicals and oil spills and how you cried at dinner. I don’t know how to tell you I cry too. I want to... Continue Reading →
Passover Now spring—a still cold reminder that life, even untended, persists. The house has suffered my distress, it is less than before, tired, a bit unkempt, lacking sparkle. I should make amends. Start here, this room, these objects burdened by... Continue Reading →
Poetry Breakfast 