Barely There
I had touched the weeping birch in the cemetery so many times that there was a small mark, a grease mark or worn place where my hand had rested, trying to feel the spinning that connected it to some … Read More
In the dream he’s a blacksmith
and she is a child, cradling an old horseshoe no one will miss. A small black pony stamps its feet. Smoke sways on the ceiling. Come closer, he says. See the girl in the fire? See how blue and … Read More
When Desire Can’t Find Its Object
Three snowy egrets. The birds floated through the viewfinder. Stillness. I turned north, drove hard a thousand miles back to where I’d lived my entire life at the bottom of a bag—a cul de sac cut right out of … Read More
A Map to After
Silence keeps its winter axis. I want to make a map. For arrival in a wind so fierce It looks as if the moon is burning, its stem trailing dark matter. They say, where is invention, a … Read More
Blaze Palmistry
In the lines on my palm the old man finds two loves, two children, and two dozen jobs. One boy and one child a mystery. An unhappy career in whatever I try. He sniffs my palm and asks if … Read More
Blighted Ovum
When I hear the doctor use the term, I think I’ve nourished graffitied rows of shop windows, grates drawn closed, rows of trees felled by Dutch elm disease, side streets barren with stumps. A blotch my body has spent … Read More
The Land Where Your House is Built
Remember it was once gold, desperate as a coin placed in a reservation slot machine. When your father drives through town in his Corolla he feels small again, like he could park all day, listen to the dusty wind cut … Read More
Notice the Hills
NOTICE THE HILLS because they may not be natural, the tour guide said, and pointing she quickly moved on to say the city was full of so much old and new it was to die for. The guide admitted … Read More
Many Letters Later
It’s easier to send gifts: a postcard from Portland, used books, colored pencils and a sketchbook, a birthday card with an ugly cartoon baby crying on its cover. I walk the dog and pluck crimson from the trees. I … Read More
Resurrecting a Songbird
It was a goldfinch. A bright male that must have been knocked from the branch, pinch of white breast quivering when I found him. He was dead before I wrapped him in my flannel shirt and carried him home. … Read More