I never saw her read another book. Cookbooks. After she turned seventy, she carried the thick book on what to expect when the body began to die to the Florida room after dinner every evening and in her small … Read More
the shape of a wraith made from discards and swatches fabric cuttings pasted down with starch and layered paint … Read More
It will make good sense when you get there to rise before dawn and take a long look out after the night has passed. Witness the wet gray streets, slate walks, granite of the curbs, hard edges of … Read More
Unmoved by my presence, the wasp works one end of her nest to the other. The lintel’s shade elides the screen between our dwellings as the cross breeze carries the bark of squirrels, annoyed by this blur of proximity. … Read More
The white roots probed late summer underground, Sought in moist tubers of swelled potatoes A darkness that encouraged them to take Their fill, stretch out, and die. At harvest, I Pulled pliant threads with pincer thumb and nail Out … Read More
Yo, for how your “o” is like the peephole through the front door of my life (and so many others’) framing one face then another a cameo setting for an animated brooch or the circular cut-out above the neck … Read More
Even when a low ceiling of clouds is forecast for all its hours the day starts throwing light around like chicken feed from under a doorway or comes outside wearing a yellow scarf which flutters behind like laughter through … Read More
The green blades glow as the low sun slants across lawns. The houses lining the lake hover above what’s ending: the day, the summer, my calculated innocence: nothing has yet disappeared – not the chittering birds, cloaked in their … Read More
Let the wind whip a canvas with coffee grounds and leaves, the easel upright on a porch with boards missing like molars. Give the wind time and pigment: the reedmace-colored whisky my grandfather hid in his overcoat, the pistol-black … Read More
If my nerves were sturdier, If I could let your apocalypse talk roll off my back, if my favorite nightcap were plunging over a cliff and being pulled back, if I didn’t like to kick off my boots and … Read More
I cringe to recall the blue morpho’s pop Zen garden where mistakenly I stomped a butterfly golden koi kept vigil with the speckled flames of their bodies every summer night squandered not one bottle of wine shared with the … Read More