April 18 Baiku
April 19, 2021
Leafless butler trees/ Serving up platters of sky/ Our bellies growling/
Category: Seasons
Sap, Rising
March 14, 2021
this blustery March afternoon I’m crossing what is still my back yard for a time drill in hand, a spile, a bright blue bag – 38 degrees, sandals skirting dried dog poop among brown leaves that fell, bright, the autumn before; the hole on the underside of the spile, yesterday confounded me but the sap … More Sap, Rising
Election Year Haiku
September 5, 2020
Fall comes on too strong/ Branches up in summer’s skirt/ Before she thinks no/
Leaving for College in a Year Marked by Plague Calls for a Sonnet
September 2, 2020
I stand a moment in the space you left, while summer air curls through the windows wide – I, reconciling, make the empty bed, the sun lies on the laundered sheets and sighs; Your desk, your chest, your closet – clean and spare, these books have all been read, the records played – the things … More Leaving for College in a Year Marked by Plague Calls for a Sonnet
That Summer of the Pandemic, It Was All Falling Apart, It was All Coming Together
July 30, 2020
It’s after eight in the evening, and in this antique light, the Queen Anne’s Lace along the roads watches the sinking sun – hundreds of tatted blooms close up like praying hands, like thousands of empty teacups drained and set upon the sideboard of the day. In the morning they’ll open again to catch the … More That Summer of the Pandemic, It Was All Falling Apart, It was All Coming Together
Waiting for Comet Neowise
July 26, 2020
When I pull onto Sunset Beach Road in the purple twilight, a couple is already standing entwined in front of their truck, tail lights pointed at Lake Michigan, peering into the western sky; I am not the only one who thought to watch from the bay. Do you see anything? they ask, without preamble, as … More Waiting for Comet Neowise
There is no Wizard
April 25, 2020
If we were still in the old world, the six-weeks ago one, right now a girl with a make-up pencil might be standing before you with a mock frown – “stand still!” she’d say, drawing crow lines on your face, not crow’s feet, but lines to make you look like a crow, so you could … More There is no Wizard
The Lights Flicker Once, Last Call in Suamico
March 24, 2020
And it’s the beginning of the end of the world – the regulars are turned out of the taverns, red-faced and singing defiantly, swaying and carrying their jackets under their arms into the almost-spring night, leaving behind the warm beer-sign bubbles, the cracked cheer of the bartenders, the pilsner philosophy of their fellow compatriots holding … More The Lights Flicker Once, Last Call in Suamico
By Tacit Agreement, Sunday at the Sensiba Trail
March 23, 2020
We do not speak of the outside world – we whistle at the sun nosing around the fraying stratus clouds, lifting and dropping golden rays that splash our ankles and the winter-dead grasses – we call out to our dogs sniffing one another in turn, then exuberantly rolling in the dead carp that the bald … More By Tacit Agreement, Sunday at the Sensiba Trail
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
