At the foot of your grave/I planted our black phone … I wait for the lawn to ring … expecting the steady/dial tone of your voice. —Matt Rasmussen Each year we return, performing a family ritual, laying a wreath on...
Read More(linked haiku) She is full-bodied smooth and well-balanced woman of blood, skin Luxurious hair shimmering in the lamplight falling to her waist Her long-lashed dark eyes edged with blackest galena foretell the future Crimson...
Read Morein this little barn the solitary stall is barely enough space for a horse to turn around slow breaths visible in cold air half-closed eyes take their rest four legs stand strong patient waiting for the next flake of hay the...
Read MoreHad she not prompted MLK we might not have that famous speech. Perhaps he would’ve said something else just as remarkable— perhaps not. We’ll never know. No women were permitted to speak from the dais at the 1963 March on...
Read MoreDropping you at the airport curb early this morning was stranger than I had imagined. For ten years you’ve been my boyfriend – turned husband – turned best friend. Although we’ve been separated for five...
Read MoreGet on a small prop plane, carry only a backpack, past the deflated windsock, signaling no direction. Note how the air smells: bitter diesel, slight sting in the nostrils. Tarmac familiar as any neighborhood driveway, leading to...
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I have always been an early riser; most surgeons are. I loved driving to the hospital before dawn, and letting my mind prepare for the day. When I arrived at the hospital, I would get a cup of coffee at the 24/7 coffee shop just...
Read Moreempty fields . . . picking twigs of hay from my sister’s hair
Read MoreThe cat walks across my papers, and I look up— she’s thirsty and hungry. The day is gone.
Read MoreI am somewhere southwest of Alaska four hours outside Narita and I notice him, three seats over and a row behind, a middle seat, yet the Buddha doesn’t seem to mind. He sits calmly sipping his Chivas and rubbing his round belly...
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