counting, cups, saucers deep wooden shelves shadow her would haves, might haves checking plates and might have, if only he, why didn’t she among the ranked soup bowls wish I, wish they, in drawers she doesn’t open compartments...
Read Moreincluding words donated by a friend She took the plunge to chatelaine her crowded ring of keys invisible to others its weight of duties unguent against the constant knocks on mind’s doors ever-present not-enoughs should-haves...
Read MoreIn my twelfth summer, I decided to make a birthday dinner for my mother. This was clearly the height of folly, since she was not only an excellent cook, but also a professional culinary artist. From my mother’s long-fingered,...
Read MoreWe make him dress up, hooded cloak, scythe and skull, the Grim Reaper, put a name to it sinister slapstick to cover the skeleton he is. Furtive footsteps, heard but not seen in the wooly uncertain night, in the darkened hospital...
Read MoreIn spring you touched me like a newfound flower, kissed me with your rose-red mouth, caressed me with your hands; you said wait till summer, write it down, write it down. Now the river grows hot and slows under the sun, the path...
Read MoreRory sat in a cheap folding chair toward the back of the packed courtroom. He knew he didn’t belong here. He knew he had right on his side. “Will all parties in the matter of the State versus Albert Alma please step up to be...
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The thread of time sows its way through the heart and mind of man. A golden string that slowly uncovers the beginning and end of earth. Its hands tick on moving through by the second and minute the month and year. Golden...
Read MoreWhat you feel here is how it happened there. The grown son was in the garage tinkering with a car. He pretended not to notice me. The father was at the door to let me inside. He was not smiling. It was hot and a fan stood in the...
Read MoreEvery poem is a journey, every journey a poem. M by Dale Kushner is a stunning collection of poems depicting life’s journey in three stages. The roads of sorrow and suffering, the paths of transformation toward spiritual joy and...
Read MoreFierce business, this child rearing up from plum waters and veined purses unclasped to reveal long-fingered hands, waxed lashes and legs. You are so many dancing cells, like some overhead scene from a ‘40s movie: all stardust...
Read MoreThey were on clearance, shelved alongside the first, unwelcome Christmas baubles — bulbs of a different nature. By then the yard was scraped raw, the trees nude and forlorn but I bought them, knowing the look I’d get, the...
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