Category: Poetry

Trains thunder through my veins. A thousand birthday candles flicker every wish there ever was. “We dwell in possibility” like Emily. I can’t turn from you or steady my gaze, so I crash into your rousing embrace. Your fingertips...

We stop to inhale           the fragrance of the clusters of petite red roses           in front of the Frary House on Main Street           in Old Deerfield, yellow-gold leaves loosened           in the wind from sycamores...

The word itself when spoken           is the sound of straw shifting among its innumerable strands,           in a whisper; a hush, when pressed, or laid amid, or sat upon,           which was also the sound of tissue I...

A ravine southeast of Stockbridge, surrounded by rare New England old-growth forest, scattered with piles or rock, thick with moss: ice can linger beneath the crevices of layers well into summer, due to north-south orientation,...

The round tin that once contained the holiday rum cake which was always shifting with a festive load of my mother’s buttons— varieties and sizes of deep rich colors: chocolate browns, pomegranate reds, sporty dark blues, all of...

I am only four but I can see far We’re on a boat and it’s pouring the boat is rocking to and fro my family is sea sick but I am entranced by the waves by the motion by the storm by the danger for I am safe within my...

In 1864 in Colorado 99 years before I was born they came to you starving, emaciated trading their guns for food and protection they hung the US flag in citizenship the white flag of surrender and peace and in time before dawn...

King and master of the queen of morn, star of heaven had he; then time’s bony fingers, forgotten in the boon, touched the bloom of youth and trembling old Tithonus bereft, bereft, locked in a room, withering to a cricket,...

    しのぶれど色に出にけりわが恋はものや思ふと人のとうまで   shinoburedo ironi idenikeri waga koiwa monoya omouto hitono toumade   Try as I might though to keep my romance secret my face gives away my obsession – so much that...

In lieu of children, some people I heard of are raising sourdough. The care with which they nurture this is equal to something newborn. To not knead is not to need. Perhaps, but there is joy in the risen. Some wake early to tend...