Author: admin

No dead rich white men’s houses, proclaims the sixteen-year-old. No museums, no museums, no museums, chants her younger sister. I scrap the itinerary, pass out guidebooks and together we plan the drive from Baltimore to North...

Wind from the east, moist, fresh. January thaw. All week snow softened, stuck to sled runners, ski edges, slid off roofs. Whump! Downspouts gurgled, icicles dripped, trickled, splashed on sidewalks. In front yards snowmen...

Sugar Maple, do you still listen for the whistle of White-Throated Sparrow? Autumn Blaze, will you miss the shock of Cardinal escaping fiery branches? Black Tupelo, are you ready to release your coral leaves and give in to time?...

goldfinches chatter of magical star seeds to come and of downy snowflakes falling on green, green grass a golden chandelier flutters an autumn aria ballads of birdsong tell of stars escaping bare branches in winter seasons of...

I am a Sycamore, stripped bare shedding all that I knew Raw flesh exposed to the light Afraid of what is there starting anew Losing me losing you Falling away yet finding a part of me just beneath Roots holding steady reaching...

The nightingale sings of springtide under the pink moon. Mountains speak, the sun settles— a pale evening primrose. Angel’s trumpet, jasmine and moonflowers light my way. Barred owls glide and lunar moths float to a nocturne....

There is a poetry of hands,           these human things, clever, never idle, good for anything,      tying and also untying, both fist and palm,           the blow and the caress. Whether we will or no,           they make,...

Up and down the street, we are at work. We neighbors, no longer young, balancing on ladders, awkwardly wielding pruning poles, dodging falling limbs, obeying the city’s order, pruning our trees. So we did our work as...

What can you say to that? Such cold words, from one so young. This poem has feelings, too many feelings. It feels like it just might explode. All you can say is – Oh, poem, wait. Someday, you will understand. And reach out your...

Q: May I have one of your potato chips? A true love story. We sit at the kitchen table eating Saturday lunch. Too hot to eat outside. Watermelon. And later in our double bed, skin to skin. But it’s still too hot. So all we’ll do...

1 Incontrovertible evidence: the leathery bottom lip of a horse, the stiff ridge along the edge of a calloused human heel, the lung-shaped yellow fungus tucked in the fork of a cottonwood. 2 Use your thumbnail to carve a heart...

Blank sky, invisible hills, gray road, pale fence, at the feeder by my window, crimson rump of a house finch. Thank you, dear Mister Finch – I’d almost stopped believing in...