Friday, February 5, 2021

Bury the Hatchet

Snow tires rest on my head

Holes in my socks 

from sweeping the floor

No roads are open today 

Labor is for the outside 

Shoveling the path

Knitting a sweater

Frying an egg

The words are right there 

just floating in the air

like big, slow, soft flakes

that melt on your tongue

Poetry is for the inside

Bury the hatchet 

Find the biggest hill you can climb

Close your eyes and throw your hands up

Sunday, November 22, 2020

Tuesday, October 27, 2020

The Incredible Shrinking Woman

My mother has beautiful bone structure 

I can see it

with every pound she loses

Her skull reveals itself 

bones pushing against her skin from the inside

Temporal ridges connect to her cheekbones 

which connect to her jaw 

which connects to the outlines of her dentures 

Her eyes peer out

wide and strong

shining silver 

like dancing ghosts

saying I know my body is shrinking 

but I will never die

I know she is scared of death

but she has never been scared of life

We all wish for swift and painless 

but death is rarely fast

Just like birth

from the beginning

we watch the soft curves

of the abdomen grow

physically appearing 

And in the end 

we watch the soft skin

wrinkle and thin

The body withers and waifs

physically disappearing 

No one should have to disappear 

before they have to

Good girls read faces like manuscripts

staying one step ahead

to avoid whatever wrath of disapproval awaits

Good boys become the familiars

of their fathers

mimicking postures and performance

to avoid whatever wrath of disapproval awaits

Burning both sides 

of this generations coin

Enabling the power dynamics

of our ancestors 

to continue to dance

Wrapping my arms 

around my 9 year old nephew 

and my 60 year old mother

is not much different 

The size of my embrace 

and the caress of delicate ribs

feels about the same

My panic to adequately 

express my love 

wells up in my throat

and the strength of my bear hug 

is fought

by the squirm of youth

or the fragility of frail

I grew up fighting fierce hugs from my mother 

Her tight grip

never ready to let go 

But now that her strength is less

I fill with regret 

Squirming in my youth

Always being the first to pull away 

But now all I want to do is reach

And uplift

And encourage 

And show  

my nephew

that she can stop shrinking

for everyone else.  

Thursday, October 22, 2020

Friday, September 18, 2020

Tuesday, September 8, 2020


Fireflies hover just above the green

their position indicated 

by the symphony of unpredictable 

The diminishing distance 

between pairs

in the increasing dim 

becomes unseen

Longing in the dark 

sparks the brightest light

Cicadas sing 

in out of sync cadence

Scattering patterns of 

sound wave traffic 

intersecting circles 

of amplified kaleidoscopes 

Turning tall stands of trees

into nightclubs of whispering 

House music

Flickering shadows 

of black bat ballerinas

dance around near misses 

Twisting gracefully 

at every last second of reckoning 

Improvisational sensitivities 

of Nina Simone 

Lusting for blood 

before going home

The pulse of molecular mapping

swirls around us 

in a persistent vortex 

of natural organization 

A grand master plan 

of invisible blue prints 

Usually, only, always 

my own lack of vision 

renders me miserable

Flocks of birds

float through my line of sight

They coast across the currents 

of atmospheric ocean

Feathers resting upon 

planes of transparent astral motion

Swimming like schools 

through heavenly pools of flight

Faith is like learning to fly

All we have 

is the very thin concept of air

The elusive abstract omnipresence 

of everywhere 

The invasive antimatter vacuum 

of nowhere 

Even, especially, specifically when 

we cannot see it 

It does not mean that it isn’t there