Month: September 2023

Hollowed out, hallowed Metal shells, wrenching to see Skeletons of life These are graveyards of Our former lives, former selves We are phoenix-strong   Jennifer Gurney lives in Colorado where she teaches, paints, writes and...

Single piece of lace Transforms the table into A magical space Discovered in a thrift store Diaphanous elegance

Twice today friends have Shared they lost a parent … and The heart remembers That day for me when Your life stilled and you were No longer here And yet you will Always and forever be My beloved...

For Else Kristina Hansen, who helped raise us The careful tending of bouquets, small miracles of color, all those crossword puzzles. Your crooked fingers delicate on rose stems. You leave behind coffee and Angel Dessert. I wear...

It’s a year after my father’s death, and my mother sleeps late. We don’t wake her. The peeling birch bark breaks off with a satisfying crack. Underneath is baby-smooth skin. Across the street in the park, I keep company with...

for Steve Sometimes our life together is sprawling behind us like a twisty ribbon of road through the hills. Sometimes we’re both in the car together. Sometimes I see one of us on the side of the road signaling for a pick up...

Tonight in the small hour, I recite the last poem she read to me: “Renascence,” because today would have been her birthday. The last time I saw her, her cheeks sucked in, mouth open, we listened to Rachmaninoff’s 3rd all night,...

The Festive: Five hundred thousand means have been invented for his destruction; but none availeth. ––Lafcadio Hearn, Insect Literature Through labyrinths of ash I drag the Festives, all of them, searching for bowls of cream...

I drink ink take it drop by drop also feed it to pages on pages of words upon words by delivery of pens I drink ink nothing tastes so good nothing gives me color like a swig of Meadow Green Magenta Flash      Purple Mojo...

A river and a bay collide right here At angles, and it’s presto, you get a narrow Point of land that links contrasting water basins. Then abracadabra, and you have a place Of diverse habitats for winter-driven Migrant waterfowl....

An escarpment colored pallid black Outlines the western shore of the Hudson here, Right across the river from midtown Manhattan. It’s called The Palisades, With precipitous cliffs that lift above the water Into a stunning perch...

               You saw It first, under a sharp, clear Winter sky. All I Had was knowledge – That it was a rarity, An evergreen, vine-like fern With fronds like tiny hands- I even knew its name in Latin: Lygodium Palmatum....