Election Year Haiku
September 5, 2020
Fall comes on too strong/ Branches up in summer’s skirt/ Before she thinks no/
Category: Autumn
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
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
Baiku 12 (Falling)
October 28, 2018
Fall wind scatters flocks/ Birds and leaves, from branch to sky/ Have we stem, or wing?
Night Picnic, Wallace, MI
August 29, 2016
Driving toward the river in the new autumn dark, (carload of cheese and bread and plans, clean towels and swimsuits that won’t be used, a guitar, a bike, assumptions and wine) Winking lights ahead cast a curious spell on my watchful eyes, Blinking from what I daylight know to be the country cemetery; Solar … More Night Picnic, Wallace, MI
