Inner Compass
Golden shovel from David Whyte’s poem “Sweet Darkness”“…anyone or anything that does not bring you alive it too small for you.”
It could rain...
DetoxIn the morning her long hair drapes like black tears over her shoulders,her Hispanic bones bruised with alcohol and sorrowso that when she says...
Middle Path, Kenyon College
I didn’t know which ones werenasturtiums until after the warmSeptember afternoon I spottedtheir round leaves with orange and yellowflowers on the...
Which is to say, I miss you
Today everyone looks familiarunder the yellow ocher, autumn light.
This woman with the child.That older man resting on a...
Winter Dream
Time ravishes the line, with glare of colorYou fashion a sky, scarring silenceMoon hoards the light
Scars of strangeLines fashioned into a druma sky...
After the Ambulance
Why can’t we break the tensionlike how your motherbroke that Waterford your father gave heron their thirty-fifth anniversary,the day her body first...
French Resistance, without any French
The raccoons lived in the back shedlike a family of nocturnal lawn mowers.The backyard just the front yardthat no one...
Hobbs Square, 1955, Worcester, MAAfter a photograph of Cecile Aaronson by a Telegram and Gazette photographer
The woman stands at the open windowon the day...
The Yellow Door
By ramrod fleet, by coonskin cap,walking contraband visits the shops,in this one and out that one,purchases wrapped under arm or carriedin tiny...
In the third grade, I sat in the last row.Chalk dust whisper down the slate blackboard.The radiators hammered like anvilsthroughout the morning. In the...
Clouds weep on theWindows adding their sorrow to my unchecked sadness. Sun tries to drysky’s tears, shine throughbut fog shrouds sky,effectively blockingany warmth from...
