Category Archives: Uncategorized

one day
morning moon
bright and full

another day
morning sun
dazzles through
the window

neon advertisements
for the day to come

The snow is deep and leisurely
with plenty of time to be creative
Here, for example, outside the mechanic’s
the rusted body shop sign sways
in the warm wind
while the snow pile
melts into the shape and gleam
of a marble torso

After all the storms pass
roof tiles, tree limbs
fallen to the ground
and all our crackled roads
show the slow wear of weather
while in the garden
last year’s hydrangeas
soft brown blooms,
tissue paper rustle
somehow still stand

cemetery fence—black iron
knocked to the ground
though the gate is still latched.
Dusk and a robin
perch on a gravestone
for the spectacular view

tree thoughts crowd the sky,
drift above these blue gray hills—
drink in these green dreams
now, before they wake
Another delight of early spring

When I feel bad
about homeless cats
I remind myself of
Worse Things—
mass graves, tsunamis,
plagues or fires or famines,
other disasters man-made or
natural. A list that
horrifying but true
could go on for a long, long time.
Halfway through the seventh stanza
most of the homeless cats have grown bored
and wandered away to settle their own fates.
Except for you. Only you linger,
ready for any story I want to tell,
as long as my voice stays soft and I remember
that one part of the one story you care about—
the part where I scratch the perfect spot behind
your always-wary ears.

Yesterday’s birthday?
My mother’s. I know for sure
what choice she would make.

In my quiet house
endless choosing for others—
Syllables, and weight
so many, so much.
Responsibility pounds
on my closed front door

Oh grow up, I shout.
So I did. What did I get
for all that effort?
Rooms, roads, and choices
and Responsibility
humming in my head

Late March, trees still bare
All their wiring shows—they are
stretching for the green dresses

trees in our town
held a long, slow protest rally
roots cracked all our roads

Gardens in late spring, lush with blossoms
A little girl sent to bed, crying
The best cappuccino you ever had, served with strawberries that tasted like nothing at all
Phone that rings in an empty house, how it echoes
A fight at a family dinner
All the old details crossed out in your address book
Catching an early morning flight, the almost deserted airport
Another magic mirror—this one reflects the childhood you wanted to give your children
A glass of cool water when you are most thirsty
The suitcase you never unpacked
Busy signal every time you dial her number
A striped beach blanket abandoned in the sand, as night falls
The list of things you wish to say, if she answered the phone
A candle burning
How eyewitness testimony is notoriously unreliable
Standardized tests, the way they fan the scent of anxiety
The last call before your phone dies

You May Circle All That Apply