Poet, cyclist, mother, lawyer, daughter, nature-lover, wife, photographer. Fan of Yeats, John Irving, Margaret Atwood, Wes Anderson, the Impressionists, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Martin Luther, Jesus. Not in that order.
Finally I drive away from that old house in the city where drama was spooling out across the little screen I held: alcohol, of course, family wounds, threats of suicide. I pocket that silenced screen like a take-out container of active angst – and I go to Menard’s, where I hear you can save big … More The Birds of Menard’s
I’ve cast the three who lived (thrown, broken, mending) upon the river of the world (flown, dammed, bending) they drift in solemn leisure (whether will or chance or fate) like shining broken windows (not shy not strong not vain) their wings catch specks of twilight (the eddies hold them fast). Three pulled toward the lake … More Casting Die
Scientists say that distance equals speed times time but our universes collided and sailed a million miles apart even though the erosion of our hearts was glacial – each breath a tiny wave against the ruddy shore, each heartbeat washing itself away a little more. They say that speed is distance divided by time, but … More Valentine’s Day Worksheet
Out in a windswept January night under the black quilt of sky that is tucked tightly over the Keweenaw peninsula, the stone foundation of a barn lies unsleeping; instead she’s feeling, like a phantom limb, the heft and surety of the hay mow, the ache of splintered barn boards, the impatience of the rusted tractor, … More Phantom Limb
Adam’s heart suddenly shuttered but now dives and flutters in a waiting rib cage not his own – a cardinal who lost his song he hopped up strong, he perched on the sill and pecked at the pane he pecked at the pain asking to be let in to be let out so another could … More Auld Lang Syne
Alone I went, I went alone to the rollicking Christmas tree farm; the saw was sharp, sharp was the saw that tucked itself under my arm – I felled a tree, the tree now mine and i cradled it there in the snow men swaddled it tight with loops of twine and i stood it … More Alone I Went
The ferryman carried me, (married, me), buried me there in the Underworld, he spied me and pried me, (belittled and mocked, me) beat down and rocked, I was round I was ground into hardwood floors, wanting no more; so as I lay dying, as I was lying in that boat’s greasy water, so sorry to … More Charon’s Younger Brother Brings Me Back Across the River Styx
I have staked out a sliver of an acre in this king-sized country where I am held carefully in the dark like the opening quotes and the first few words of a song – through the open window I can hear the world as it grows lighter, I hear sandhill cranes trilling to each other … More Suspension
I live in the city now and mostly that means when I stoop to pick the paper up off of the sidewalk I can smell coffee and toast in someone else’s kitchen, proof that neither the apocalypse nor the Rapture happened between last night and this morning; proof of houses still standing and people still … More Coffee and Toast on Hubbard Street, Civilization and Oliver’s Query
Moon waxing gibbous/ in cotton candy twilight;/ ravenous, my heart/
Halfway North 