I am eight in a blue striped chair listening.There is a song that makes me tear upA pure high pitched voice sings ice cream castlesclouds and dreams and a refrain I don’tfully understand but somehow do in my belly.I am eighteen and I know the woman singingthat song wrote the song when she wasn’tmuch older … Continue reading Both Sides
Be Light
Widor's Toccata, fr. Symphony for Organ No. 5, generally lasts around 6 minutes.Longer than it takesto readthispoem (I promise)A well- wornRecessional featured atRoyal weddings,Funerals n-such -itspeaks tothe vitality- some might say-freneticism of walkinginto the light.Go forth, it says.Be brilliance,stamina,be the orderedrepetitionand deep basspulse of lifeCelebrate.It’s a showcase for organists and,I hear, notan insurmountabletask to learn. … Continue reading Be Light
Inevitable
InevitableSo then, we areInevitableFollow our starsAll the days your songs remember meAll your songs still leave their mark on meAging gracefully so inevitablyInevitableSo then, we areInevitableFollow our starsHigh above the heavens sing to meWordless phrases ring a bell for meOpen arms embrace the mystery with youInevitableSo, then, we areAll your songs still leave their mark … Continue reading Inevitable
Whistling Your Way Home
A house still stands near the place you crashed but it creaksand it leans -paint peels, eerie white lights twinkle within.People ran out ona moonless night, whenyou struck the combine cutter barbroken off too close to the shoulder.The road you’d traveledfor 70 years offered no signtrusting, it does, local driverslook out for themselves.And farmers too, … Continue reading Whistling Your Way Home
Road Trip Ghazal
We ride west for miles past tall windmill, prairie dots, anxious eagle eyesgun signs, god signs, broken fences, white sky.Crosses at the crossroads, this America is unamusedholding on to some misremembered past, a blinding white sky.Every metaphor, destruction, every forming thought fizzlesno break from a killing silence, dull road-ache, the white sky. Humorless you at … Continue reading Road Trip Ghazal
Copenhagen Misses You
The mermaid by the canal is crying. These cobblestones, they’re a hazard, my clogs have yetto break in, so my feethurt. All I want is to sip kaffe with you, watch the rain drip down the windows, lean acrossour warm little table to wipe thecroissant crumb from your cheek. Come back. Come back.
Ah Grief
Ah griefsaid my friendmy mother’s scuffed black shoeson the back seatwhen I made my wayfrom the hospitalwithout herTo know griefsaid the windis to rattle windowpanestrouble the puddlesof every loss shakethe raftersof your heartKnowing griefsaid the teacupis to spill bitternessand compassionread the leaveswear the stainlike a tattoo…after Alicia Ostriker’s The Blessing of The Old Woman, The … Continue reading Ah Grief
Platonic
Your voice on the page rides ethers strong familiar comforting dear old friend I cherish memory our alleyway bicycle adventures back porch story telling the ache as your family drove down a street I thought meant goodbye Ohio forever. But here’s a photo 50 years hence hip to hip wild-haired on your Napa hillside or … Continue reading Platonic
Housekeeping: a book forgotten now remembered
Forest dark moss covered rooted & Vined newspapers piled wet smell the lake maybe a bleached skull or maybe the name of a town Fingerbone battered walking boots sagging porch orphaned girls The mystery of Sylvie her Solitude her wandering her train trestle traipse her cardboard closet the eternal question stay or move on I … Continue reading Housekeeping: a book forgotten now remembered
Peanut Butter Toast
1. You come back around to it, a simple pleasure. Peanut Butter on toast, made with your own two hands. No, you did not grind the nuts, or the wheat for bread, but you learned later in life how to make a lazy sourdough loaf. The toast, well it elevates things. Keep it simple. Eat … Continue reading Peanut Butter Toast
Early Morning Poems 