Category: Poetry

You’re blind-folded, driving the old truck headed toward No Name Lake on the gravel road. You’re picking up speed, stones pinging off the frame, but it’s been a good truck, so you think it will probably make it. What does that...

Sometimes when I face-time with my toddler grandchildren, I have this urge to pierce a hole in their psyche— just to know what emotions flood their universe, which they’ve not yet collected a vocabulary to express. There is so...

She left her boyfriend of two years, borrowed two dollars hopped on the tracks— destination nowhere. Backpack in overhead with a change of nothing. In front of her, a tray of condiments and not a penny for a drink. She only told...

After dark, when I was fifteen my jean pockets full of coins for phone booths, class-enclosed, metal-framed with rust and dust, and fingerprints marking the years. In the slots, I slipped my quarters dropping like silver...

In memory of Renee Good The trees were bare, spindly silhouettes threaded out against indigo sky. Fiery gold layers lit the horizon over cold morning water. In this silent majesty, mere moments before color washed to pale and...

I am the keeper of the house. Locking doors, dimming lights. Tossing, turning racing, burning thoughts and visions flaming red. My tired body begs delivery into sleep. Some late nights before bed, when I kiss the soft warm heads...

shades of green pose against dull grey-brown. Sweet maple saplings stand in the woods, their foothold strong and balanced in the deep dark soil. New shoots of poplar have ruptured the forest floor. Through dense thicket, they...

In the race to rejuvenating water we must cross a finish line of eroding life. The final stretch funnels our bare legs, sliding through beach pea vine snares, Pitcher’s thistle pokes, and blackened sand cherry roots, immortally...

spent with Nat King Cole on black & white TV, the oversized turkey so slow-roasted as if days spent under the candles lit on our dining table, undulating, when we all felt special, extra folding chairs, each our own gifts...

It’s not only the snow though its downy drifts linger and sharpen into vast gray slabs. My toes go numb through thick socks, icicles bundled in wool. It’s not only the wind though it shrieks, pricking and biting like glassy...