Tag Archives: National Poetry Month

Poseidon   He invited me to sit with him in the small wheelhouse which was faintly lit by the computer screens of a few navigational devices.   But, before the sun broke the horizon, The silent calmness was rudely interrupted … Continue reading →

MOUNTAIN VALLEY PIPELINE   I scroll down the sterile pixelated news, and whiffs of paper pulp don’t hang   in the air, and inky newsprint doesn’t stain my fingers. That transient stain as familiar   as the walnut hulls years … Continue reading →

Two-hearted “You look like a boy,” the child at the table next to me at the diner, hisses at me, “you don’t smell pretty like a girl.”  He’s a tow-headedtot – out of a squeaky-clean laundry ad.  Yet, his hiss … Continue reading →

That’s All She Wrote She was going to be a great lady, a literary lady of wordsSo she set out to write the great novel, to make sure that her voice could be heard.She wrote while her brain was on … Continue reading →

Where She Belongs     I pace the denuded streets, counting the humans who scurry by, their little skull faces aglow. Mornings are light-struck & female. Afternoons jumbled & loose. I try to remember why I decided to quit drinking. … Continue reading →

Survivors He calls – the boy I used to know, now a man, a reporter, asking me for an interview: how to make meaning out of senseless trauma years later, how to talk calmly about the other boy, his classmate, … Continue reading →

Come Together in a Solidarity Run Enchanted. Hypnotized with demise and astray with decay, the screaming lay bleeding at the grabbing urgency to run in protest of a disturbing uptick in anti-Asian hate. A broken peaceful future. The anger and … Continue reading →

SCHADENFREUDE   For the dead and the living, we must bear witness. Elie Wiesel   Seder here, and drear— no cedars and still we must pretend to fend. Our herd— snared like hares— under thunder clouds, torn asunder, like the … Continue reading →

Strategy at the Broken Places               on the life of Sybille von Schoenebeck Bedford     When her Huxley essay casually scripted Nazi Germany as bottomless stupidity she was left severed from wealth, ungrounded. Tangled knots of worry stretched skin … Continue reading →

Enter and Exit Singing             I. Back and forth the golden orb swings. The earth spins. The golden orb does not count, does not age.  Time is nothing to it.               II. What is time? Stasis               III. … Continue reading →