Election Year Haiku
September 5, 2020
Fall comes on too strong/ Branches up in summer’s skirt/ Before she thinks no/
Category: Writer
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 Book of the Covid Moon
April 14, 2020
This full moon is an open book left for you in the beach house you rent for the summer, full of some other family’s things. The preface, nothing but light. As days flip by, thin as ghosts, you lose the plot: the moon comes up in another part of the house, sets when you aren’t … More The Book of the Covid Moon
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
Sunday Morning Ride on the Peshtigo River Trail
February 23, 2020
Chickadees, snowshine, tourmaline skies; Blue jays, jack pine, solitude mine.
In Which Woolly Mammoths Save the World, Starting with Siberia, Because Permafrost is Melt and Carbon is Release
February 5, 2020
Halfway North 