An Old House, These Woods
August 27, 2019
An old house, these woods / sunlight drips through leaky trees / on the forest floor /
Tag: poem
The Fourth Generation of Monarchs Remember the Future
August 13, 2019
Three generations of monarchs unfurl their wings right where they emerge, dazed, to mate for hours while the world pitches and yaws, dusk to dawn – six weeks spent locked in an off and on fluttering embrace, drifting in circles of lazy lust just along overgrown highways of the driftless area (Trempeleau, Pepin, Eau Claire) … More The Fourth Generation of Monarchs Remember the Future
Interstitial
July 10, 2019
Five-thirty’s afternoon light fades from the Menominee where this water bug zig-zags northward over the glassy sturgeon-black surface of the river; a needle pulling threads of silver-speckled sunlight together, close as lovers, stitching a narrow pocket into which I slip secretly the ruins of another unmatched summer’s day.
The Nest (Or, a Father Considers the Odds of Raising Successful Small-Mouth Bass Offspring)
June 24, 2019
That afternoon at the cabin we sat by the river after I had cut up those small trees that you dropped at my feet with the tractor – (an offering, a challenge, one that I tore through haphazardly with the new chainsaw, black and yellow like a drunken, terrible bumblebee). It was quiet after all … More The Nest (Or, a Father Considers the Odds of Raising Successful Small-Mouth Bass Offspring)
NPR Asked for Summer Haiku
June 19, 2019
I. Shady Lane barefoot at twilight we play Ghosts in the Graveyard vanishing in dark II. Rook cards slap on the porch after-dinner Manhattans kids drunk with freedom III. Beckoning June is ever-dusk fireflies wink in gangly grass as I pedal home
Falling Stars
June 3, 2019
Outside in the drizzle of spring, green, green is the grass – lilacs are tiny purple fists waiting to unfold to again welcome May – once more trotting out its new beginning- with sweet applause; Inside, the window is cracked because of the paint, and you, at the far end of 16, stand without a … More Falling Stars
Centrifugal Force
March 10, 2019
In the beginning the boys and their sleds and half-size snowboards would pile in on a snow day, headed for the Suamico Elementary School hill; They were puppies, interchangeable, laughing, careening down the hill over and over – later they’d play Minecraft, fighting zombies in the dark, building houses close together for protection – in a … More Centrifugal Force
He Defends Gene Edited Babies
December 18, 2018
Lulu and Nana are drafts; edited before they are published, in secret, He is bent over translucent twins in a cabin by the fire while snow skims the sky outside, He takes his red pen and his scissors named CRISPR and he snips their DNA here and then there like a gloved boxer making … More He Defends Gene Edited Babies
Haiku 19
November 19, 2018
Buttery light spread/ on this white November wall/ winter’s knife is slow.
Linneman’s
December 10, 2017
At Linneman’s RiverWest with McKenzie, my firstborn, who is somehow of age, beautiful, and strong, despite it all – we’re just one drink in, waiting for her boyfriend Zach to play, when I hit the ladies’ room — “I’m comin’ out!” the lady in the half-open stall shouts and so I pee behind the imperfectly … More Linneman’s
Halfway North 