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
So my daylist is earnest indie sad girl carnival oatmeal Sunday and meanwhile advertised to me is a sweatshirt with a blue heron in a beanie that I trip over myself to order, and the throughline is a polka for this dung beetle plucking up the detritus of the human race (one two) patting it … More Dung Beetle Polka
it’s the ritual of the envelope/ of the return address/ of your address/ of the stamp the card I will send to you is a time traveler, you I hold like a tiny beacon for a moment while outside darkness like a stray cat curls around the house and Sheila wrapped in a parka dispenses … More Decembering
We got an hour back on Sunday, hundreds of years ago, when there was still some modicum of hope. And then the wind came through like a train on Tuesday, pulling all the leaves down with it and heaping it into wet greasy piles along the road while people lined up and marked their ballots. … More Lane Assist
On my way north, once again, Highway E curves into a 25 mph crawl past a post office and a closed taxidermy shop, toward the county building that was once my elementary school that now holds snowplows. A hawk flies low over the road toward the sun setting nearly in the south – so close … More Bliss
At 100 N. Jefferson St in Green Bay, City Hall: the ladies of democracy all have their backs turned when I walk in for early voting, attending to the copy machine, the phones, the trash, as though it’s an ordinary day with the office in order. Finally one of them, my age, with bangs, takes … More The Ladies of Democracy
I live in the city now and mostly that means when I stoop to pick the paper up off of the sidewalk I can smell coffee and toast in someone else’s kitchen, proof that neither the apocalypse nor the Rapture happened between last night and this morning; proof of houses still standing and people still … More Coffee and Toast on Hubbard Street, Civilization and Oliver’s Query
Consider the fullness, the halfness, the bare dented space on my ring finger as I hold the pint, the sun and the foam sliding down the insides of my glass. O regard the Great Pandemic! The maskers and the anti-vaxers, the moats we’ve dug around ourselves – it’s far from over, but nevertheless when I … More Behold This Pint of Oatmeal Cream Ale
Early evening sun/ Caught under the arches/ Words stuck in my throat
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 