A Month Alone
I am going into sequestration to learn how to create words both gentle & coarse where […]
Photo Poems
Trajectory
the river doesn’t follow a straight line pulled by the moon, but roams like a coyote following root skin and scent. ice jams push sludge-brown waters (on a screaming path),
Negative Rays
Color is a sort of medicine; when the sky is blue, we stay…but when the sky is exhausted, turns ashy & dull gray we turn away. some would
Ancestress
I am an old woman sitting on the beach pink scarf holding back windblown hair a mother makes
I Have Fallen Into the Sun
Like failed planets and moons that have lost their mass, I too, have fallen into the sun. Amplified sunlight to the nth power re-quires re-calibration, a separate orientation. We, the
GOOD FOOTING: A poem
At twenty below the moon comes up in blue daylight; our mattress, dense with sleeping bags and white feather pillows belies any sense of warmth-slash- comfort. (pretense):
Book Spine Poetry
Reporter: Why don’t you write the way you talk? Gertrude Stein: Why don’t you read the way I write? What follows are poems I did not write. They are poems
REPOSE
the great wait-er you wait for the kids to get home from school so you can ask about their day, satisfied they’re happy as they were when they left you
Cabin Notes: Election Year, Nov. 2012
A Dispatch from Alaska 1. Drive three hours on steep, snowy, narrow mountain roads. 2. Arrive. Assess the river: old