In Which Woolly Mammoths Save the World, Starting with Siberia, Because Permafrost is Melt and Carbon is Release
February 5, 2020
Author: Jill Madden Melchoir
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.
A Confederacy of Dunces and Castoffs
January 20, 2020
We “go thrifting,” my daughter and I, because it’s again cool to be uncool and because she can’t yet hear the murmurs of each discarded thing. I dread finding items I’ve already cast off at the Goodwill on Oneida street; I prepare to glance away awkwardly, pretending to see something that interests me in the … More A Confederacy of Dunces and Castoffs
Heart in Darkness
January 19, 2020
The heart is a muscle The heart is a fist it’s strong and it’s wary, this beast in my breast. My heart has been sleeping My heart has dreamed dreams – It wakens, now, flexing, it growls and it gleams. My heart is gone hunting, My heart leads me on Through starless dark forests, on … More Heart in Darkness
Thief of Stars
December 4, 2019
I am the reflection of a star on the dark glass of the river just before dawn breaks.
The Insufferable Logic of Tides
November 6, 2019
Sometimes you are hauled backward before you can move forward; you get on a plane in the dark in Nashville and head south to Atlanta before touching down in Milwaukee where someone you love waits in the sleeting rain to drive you back and pour you into a warm, flightless bed. Sometimes the moon draws … More The Insufferable Logic of Tides
Saturday at the Abbotsford Auto Parts Store
October 20, 2019
On the way home we pull off Highway 29 near Abbottsford to get gas. It’s been raining since we left Minneapolis. An Amish buggy clip clip clips into the auto parts store across the road. The horse doesn’t question, just stands there, dripping. Maybe they sell tractor parts, too; or maybe the man just wanted … More Saturday at the Abbotsford Auto Parts Store
The Disobedience of Rain
October 5, 2019
October rain ebbs and flows and falls and falls and falls on the crooked pine trees and the roof, on the old swing set and the black driveway, on the cold, wet burn barrel and the American flag at the hundred year old house on Shady Lane where my parents live still. In the basement, … More The Disobedience of Rain
Somewhere, Another (The Pied Billed Grebe)
October 4, 2019
A pied-billed grebe has already paddled madly halfway across this cove (its crested head sporting a half-hearted mohawk, its body a sputtering vector moving toward the northwest, Lake Superior swollen like a too-observant eye) before I realize that it has darted out from under this porch that hangs over the water where I stand holding … More Somewhere, Another (The Pied Billed Grebe)
9.6 Miles in September
September 14, 2019
On the last Saturday of my 40s, I drive alone to Fish Creek to take the Sunset Bike Trail at Peninsula State Park. It occurs to me as I review the map, then fold it into small rectangles and put it into my back pocket, that if I live to be 96, it’s a decade … More 9.6 Miles in September
Casting (Baiku #49)
September 8, 2019
Overcast skies cast over / this lake, my unquiet mind / the fish dart away /
Halfway North 