the matchstick girl is of no use in a time like this, when it is such a transient flame she carries in those mitten-wrapped hands, shivering. she shakes upon striking, and it’s not helpful to the cause. no, a fire for this task must cement in her hand, holding more steady than that which will […]
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Here’s what I’m thinking now at the end of the world: If knowledge is power, and power corrupts, then why did I bother reading you, Cicero? Besides, the tortoise will get us all hare or no hair. Does it matter that I don’t love you? Would it matter if I did? There’s a poetry reading
Five A.M. Sunday morning. I’m happy that it’s still dark. With the extended heat wave, every bit of coolness added to the day helps. I let the dogs out into the back yard. Cody, a muscular 56 pounds, looks like a lab, but the one-quarter terrier in him rules when it comes to behavior. He
People said you didn’t exist in America, just to make me mad. In Florida, the grass is made of cement. Everything is exactly forty minutes from everything else. Looks like it’s about to rain. You introduced me to things I’ve never tasted, very late at night. We paid money to get close to death. I
New England holds its antique charms for such a one as me. The woods, the waves, the poets’ graves call pilgrims seasonally. The village green in Amherst dreams of Dickinson and Frost. The shades of these speak poetry in rhymes sublime and soft. But double Concords, Salems, too, plus devious round-abouts conspire to witch my
Passage to Massachusetts Read More »
The boy in the browning field Does not see the scattering Of crabgrass, sunflowers, or tumbleweed. He does not smell the lavender or the dull decay of a coyote kill. He does not remember the rusty beer cans He kicked off the dirt path To arrive here at this intersection. He stoops Watching a black
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