Category: Poetry

Your body knows a wolf even if your eyes don’t see one. You will feel it as you step into a neighbor’s place. Old man. Houseplants. Come inside. When the door closes, it hits you: The air is too still. A tension you cannot name....

I am too sick with flu for piety Wilma Elizabeth McDaniel Furniture out of focus in the fever of sleep, becoming ghost from other people’s dreams: curtains assume a corporeal form, the sickroom oddly shaped as if something seen...

poems like White Paintings like White on White, a “harmony of silence,” an absence of color, a metaphor for what is and what is not, for what is coming and for what has gone before, “white is something you endlessly return to,”...

In her haven, a room overlooking Main Street: a low, well-used writing table, white, hand crocheted spread over single bed; outside, scents of Spring, butterfly clusters, bees...

anthems for the doomed youth set to music are the unanswered prayers of soldier’s sung a capella or accompanied as the Dies Irae for soloists and full orchestra sung in a Cathedral of All Saints in after-storm light, a...

each poem is intruder alien     irritant is the party-crasher the hanger-on      who can’t take a hint the one who overstays the welcome      it never had is worry at the corner of an eye fret too insistent to skirt the mistake...

the gleam of an egg you crack out of its pale cloister water you see pulled apart into countless beacon-eyed drops dough kneaded by your hands— folded up, over, into itself, stretched toward luminescence the faint opal scars...

An ecological footprint measures how fast a human being consumes resources and generates waste compared to how fast nature can absorb that waste and create new resources. May my eco-footprint shrink           and shrink, yet...

Earth is the world’s noun, naming, naming, saying nothing but in things— proper and common, all at once. Acting up, always doing something, wind is the verb, on the move, unless—of course—it contents itself with simply being. As...

In the early dark of winter nestled deep into my chair lamp light at my shoulder worksheets strewn across my knees My husband’s chair and mine at right angles, huddling together in the calm of our home, relaxed into our...