It is winter now. You can tell because the chimneys proclaim that a new season has begun.The scent of burning pinion rests in the air, even though snow hasn't fallen.The chill in the mornings bites uncovered ears and blushes my cheeks as I collect the firewood. It is winter now. You can tell because the…
With the parents he had, What kind of father would he be? Beget-me-not and prove you love me And you love yourself too.
You are the last cigarette I’ll smoke Before I quit tomorrow Like I’ve had So many times before. You’re the half cup of coffee Left in the carafe Because I don’t need To make another pot. You’re one more episode Or chapter of the book Before I close my eyes And curl up to dream.…
With seeds thrown all around on fallow groundMy tears water The poison of the ground doesn’t germinate love
I had never met a single one But I knew all of those little girls. They were my little sisters with five braids in their hair They wrote letters home Sharing beauty rare. They asked for candy From counselors Who knew better Than to share The sugary sweet goodness During rest hour. And they cried…
Does it matter you hold a cello?The New York Times omits a word. Does it matter you use grammar?Understood is understood. Does it matter you drop a bomb?The rally cry of hate is heard. Does it matter I read the news?My ultimate end is quite assured.
He composed the piece for violabecauselike every composerwho ever composed a piece for viola,he was in love with a violist. I wonder if she knowswhat she createdas his muse. If she celebrates,Or sinks inside herself,when she hears the low C sing. The unmoved moverwith cause of attractionextracting beautyfrom the mind of the manwho remembers her…
A friend of virtuedoesn’t wear the same size shoeOr sit in the cubicle next to you.She didn’t appear because you happened to be alphabetically compatible and sitting in a row. At least that’s not why she was chosen more than other people who wear size 9, or prairie dog in that long-forgotten secretarial pool, or…
Full of joy and laughter and loveMy parents gave me few choresNo ultimatumsI never was groundedOr punishedI learned to criticize myself for every flawAnd correct others creating boundariesWhere I had none. My mother was a musicianA concert harpist who played in four symphoniesOf south LouisianaAnd weddings on most weekendsShe played nearly 10,000 weddings in 40…
"The happiness of a tree that clings to its roots” wrote Nietzsche in 1873A hundred years before I was bornWhen the roots I would cling to were being formed. Let us not cling to the past that our foremothers wrought with iron and wood as they cut down the trees to build cabins that became a neighborhood. Let us not cling, but…
