Author: admin

Though I’d heard of them I swear I’d never once even seen them But the first time I stumbled across them Recognized them for exactly what they were Their little faces sweet and red With embarrassment, shame and pride And when I...

Were we eight or ten the year the Young Boys Moved in down the street Fencing stolen stuff in the dark The catalpas Bulging out over the sidewalks Like bouncers at an all-night club Seed pods littering the lawn Like gang...

Seven in the evening the announcement blew up the city’s telephone lines My sedan was jogging down the lane along with news as contagious as diseases. I looked outside the window sensing a feeling of tension traveled up my...

GIRL IN THE DAPPLED SHADE BY PAMELA VAP If Shirley Temple were a bird, she would look like the girl who is perched on the limb, ringlet curls, eyebrows arched like a wing, round cheeks, and missing her front baby teeth. Below...

I thought I was sixteen, could speak German, and play Pachelbel’s Canon in D on the curved and rich cello, and then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I had just eaten a huge bowl of pretzels and polished off two strong...

Down the backstreets of Seattle’s south side near Pioneer Square, seamstresses fashioned passion’s art during evening strolls overlooking Elliott Bay, spent a lifetime hearing confessions, A sepia eternity for remembering...

From Coltrane to Bird freestyling jazz enthusiasts strike notes sharp and flat drummers roll wooden sticks around kits, riding cymbals, providing crescendos, milking dark corners—drawing inspiration from unpainted walls clinging...

Grandma nourished mixed calla lily bulbs—invasive subterranean rhizomes— in cedar planter boxes hand-hewn, tenderly pruned long slender stalks, cradled chalice-shaped flowers over her wrinkled arms, safeguarded lavender, maroon,...

where I’ve come to buy an ink cartridge and a ream of 30% recycled printer paper, where the woman in front has offered me her spot in line since she’s returning a large order, and I accept, and how standing here, I see them, and...

Sweat snakes down my spine as I hike an old farm road in the foothills.         Barely August and green leaves are rusting already. The morning is still, except for goldfinches dive-bombing a field of black-eyed-Susan’s, honey...

Boulders on the bank where I could rest and wiggle my toes in wet sand. Light and dark, sun and shadow. I needed a ripple to tell me stories, how it must have felt to have a child skip a rock across its shimmer. Today I needed...