Author: admin

Sometimes poems Get forgotten. They arrive between the shower And the towel, Between the hot water and the coffee grounds, Between the front door and the car. Those are the ones that have the most to say. They bide their time...

For my mother The past never stays where you left it flying off to perch on some other branch migrating to a different nest If I could make the past hold still sing its accustomed song flutter its painted wings the way it used...

It’s a matter of shape and velocity he says talking about airplanes but to me it sounds more like faith an intake of breath that carries you somewhere above the ordinary an instinctive gratitude for the crispness of the air for...

Spat out by a volcano eons ago banded by sand, bloomed with plumeria, protea, palm We flew there twice but no more no more long-line airport no more carry-on in the overhead bin no more tray table in the upright and locked...

Bioluminescence – a serious word and the cold light from its belly is serious indeed to the firefly See me it signals come to me love me as if beetles could love But I love them – always have their flitting flickering delighted...

Telescopes train glassy eyes on our flaming star. Satellites circle sideways in the plane where planets travel. And now a new craft will ring the sun top to bottom to get a better view. It’s a matter of trajectory. Sometimes you...

who walks among the cranes and dirt, her song in the air, like musk scent of riverbank. Praise for the riverbank, larger or smaller with the flow of the Rio Grande, its winding waters drift between the heart-shaped rustle of the...

I drove your car into a telephone pole three days after my sixteenth birthday when I reached for a Diet Coke in the inside pocket of the door. How you had patience for me, Dad. We expect children to break things, we expect play...

We walked until there was no sound, we walked until we only heard the noise we made, then we walked farther, until only the sky could see us. We walked to where the water was sacred, its speak, a prayer, then we regarded it with...

THE STAYING BY LIZA WOLFF-FRANCIS When I was twelve, we began to stay in the same place, though my grandmothers warned that not moving is dangerous. When we arrived here, we knew as if the trees told us by their sway in the...

All the people I have known have moved from place to place, spreading their wings across the horizon to something new. A single crane, its wings as wide as the land, if the world opened up like each of us opens our lungs to...