If I threw a rock down the gullet of this deep, lonely blog, would it hit at the bottom? Would it splash into some river run-off of old melancholy or all has that all dried up? Lodge itself into the thick damp remnants of fear. Or would that flung rock just hit the dry, cracked … More Echo echo echo echo….
Letters of My Body Dear Feet. Please stop for a moment – please stop jiggling worriedly or pushing shyly beneath the blanket on the couch. I’ve written a poem for you in Morse code. There, dotted along your tops where the sun tenders that thin skin. I’ve dotted the tops of your big toes – … More Letters of My Body
Did you see the same sky I did tonight, after dinner? The last of rich sauce and gristle left off from the meat. Swallowing one more jagged crust of bread, the last pull of wine, then lurching to the driveway so I could stare at white swaths of flimsy atmosphere and wonder where such a thing came from. It wasn’t expected, … More Color Blind
Do you read The Paris Review Interviews? Beautiful bits of writerly wisdom and insight. A recent link in my Twitter feed pointed me to the 1986 interview of W.S. Merwin, one of the first poets I read in my second stint of university, a time when I was feeling so very connected to the art of words. Of the many ways to understand and define … More W.S. Merwin On Poetry: “The completeness of life.”
It’s six and September so the sky is gilded at the edges in small leaves and slivers on the water when the boat moves off the dock. I have a book of poems in my palm and a man runs a polisher over the coffee-colored floor in gentle whirs along the window seats. Tonight the … More Cords
She is more often not the good daughter her mother raised her to be. See the way her lips have thinned to a dry line, pulled in under teeth, a careful seam. Why does the word “eggshell” anger her so? Five swipes of paint she brushed on the bathroom wall. A row of grays because … More The Seam
In the dim, rumbling bus the boy peers tiredly from beneath a wing of yellow hair. His eyes are as soft as they will ever be. The boy cranes his neck for a girl who is balanced under damp fir boughs along the highway. Her spine is as straight as it will ever be. The … More Small Birds