Life, word-glazed, what-knot, and blind-note, we cry in our houses, eat bread, and go on. With arms outstretched we sleepwalk, stealing light in our white night shirts. In the middle of forgetting we remember oddly, small dream snips, other selves abandoned. Between wake and sleep we are sailing with limbs and lips wide open, braced … Continue reading Make Of It
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O Holy Night
We mustn’t laugh. O Holy Night, when year after year the unholy octave looms, then tanks as a warbling soloist, who has only just rushed to the church after setting out soup and Christmas Eve charcuterie, with a long night of wrapping still ahead, straightens her robe smooths her hair, steps forward with the organist … Continue reading O Holy Night
Triolet For Clearing
These heaps of trinket memories Your bracelets, blushers, long delayed Tossed away in waves and flurries Rooms of trinket memories I move around in waves and flurries These lettings go so long delayed No end of trinket memories Your girl life earrings well arrayed
after lucille
i am fleeing an old year and the new year hovers like a gathering storm that puts fire to my feet like lightening like all my wild dreams make easier to imagine myself not-yet-self at sixtyfive and seventyfive and seventysix even eightyplus so i am fleeing an old year and i hope what i love … Continue reading after lucille
Underground
morning gauze hides what wants to stay hidden debris of a mother’s memory footsteps of dead fathers a seed in the forest fragrance of love astonishing blend of our killing stockpiles essential flavors travel the underground keep us alive
The Visible To Be; The Story of Hand Reading
web of secrets between pink mounds love’s cavernous criss cross life in the lines beginnings endings on the lip of every precipice outward signs tell a story we cannot trace all the way back to baby hands that reached for a face this river after storm takes what we cherish forward seaward our hands scarred … Continue reading The Visible To Be; The Story of Hand Reading
Clair de lune
I sit yards away, near her, but this moment, she's so far from me, her eyes on the page her hands moving up and down keys, black and white against the olive-green antiqued upright our father brought home for her. Already at four I know the line I cannot cross to reach her when walls … Continue reading Clair de lune
Cento (April 30)
Where shall I climb, sound, seek, search, or find Further in summer than the birds In darkness and amid the many shapes Angels of rain and lightening The voice I hear this passing night was heard Said, yearn upward The whistle of the wind, it is not my voice The fly buzz, the stillness between … Continue reading Cento (April 30)
Angels At The Dock
My mother climbed a wooden fence in snow, called a cab so as not to disturb my father as he taught middle school math, and made it to the hospital in time for my birth, which remains an otherwise uneventful dream to her, given the gas dispensed and the ways babies were whisked away to … Continue reading Angels At The Dock
This House (day 28)
This house well made wood, brick foundation strong laid has sheltered many hearts baby tumbles, stairstep mumbles tantrums, and nail bitings, time outs and lights out, and sleep terrors, and math errors broken windows, rodent overthrows, bat wings lost wedding rings, dance steps, sprained necks this house is the falling down place, the get- back … Continue reading This House (day 28)
Early Morning Poems 