It’s difficult but not impossible to kiss when you are both wearing baseball caps, you with your wet braids along your neck, your bodies warm in the cool wet grass, the hem of your pants soaked to your knees where you stand between parked cars beyond the rows and rows of grapevines in the inked-in … More A Little Turning
All I have is a list, a promise of 11% back, and an unwieldy cold wet metal cart into which I throw the too-big chainsaw gloves for men, the joint compound to hold naked seams together. I’m trying to reconstruct true north. In the garden center aisle with the grass seed, dozens of little birds … More The Birds of Menard’s II
Finally I drive away from that old house in the city where drama was spooling out across the little screen I held: alcohol, of course, family wounds, threats of suicide. I pocket that silenced screen like a take-out container of active angst – and I go to Menard’s, where I hear you can save big … More The Birds of Menard’s – I, uncut
Out in a windswept January night under the black quilt of sky that is tucked tightly over the Keweenaw peninsula, the stone foundation of a barn lies unsleeping; instead she’s feeling, like a phantom limb, the heft and surety of the hay mow, the ache of splintered barn boards, the impatience of the rusted tractor, … More Phantom Limb
I have staked out a sliver of an acre in this king-sized country where I am held carefully in the dark like the opening quotes and the first few words of a song – through the open window I can hear the world as it grows lighter, I hear sandhill cranes trilling to each other … More Suspension
And they fall to earth in Northern Wisconsin – Pembine, Antigo, Lakewood – I know how they feel, wings coated with ice, heavy, so heavy the loons can’t lift them one more time and, realizing it is out of their hands, or rather, out of their wings, the only thing to do is pick a … More News Item: Loons’ Wings Ice Over
Halfway North 