Author Archives: janishaag

You left Wednesday, Marge, beforeI could return Friday to take down detailsof your 79 years for the obit. You’ve been in hospice for onlytwo weeks, moved to independentliving less than a month ago, and though I haven’t married your brother,you’ve … Continue reading →

(and no, it doesn’t rhyme with “violets”*) You want me to write a triolet?OK, then, I’ll try.Turns out it’s a fun game to play.You want me to write a triolet?Once I start, I might just do this all day.Testing my … Continue reading →

Not that I ever mastered perfect parking,much less parallel, although living in a city all these years, I have gotten better. But Ifind myself deeply annoyed one dark night by the yellow flap of paper-that-is-not-a-ticketwaiting under my windshield wiper, bearing … Continue reading →

I imagine the man whose name hasfiltered through the centuries—notthe master printer with his innovative press, but that of Henricus Cremer,the rubricator who inked red capitalletters onto delicate paper, whose hands bound and inscribedthat Bible in August 1456. He couldnot … Continue reading →

Scorching is what it is, 105 this afternoon—no biggie to desert dwellers baskingin 118—but most humans were not made for such stupid hot temperatures.And we’re getting hotter, thanks tohotheads boiling over, which makes my internal thermometer rise. To cooldown, I … Continue reading →

the night before the big blue truck comes to swallowthe contents of the green bin, where the compostablesjoin thousands of early sycamore leaves brownedby summer, I think, not for the first time, how could I haveforgotten those peaches I was … Continue reading →

Though I am not a beet person,I admire the color and shape,the just-pulled-from-the-earthinessaroma of the spherical rootswith their curly tails. But when I touch the frilly leaves,I see his hands on them, tuggingthem out of inhospitable dirt. Somehow he got … Continue reading →

The delicate corpserendered in ivoryrather than its familiar green, the mantis’spraying days are over,cradled in the veins of a milkweed leaf,which itself will all toosoon expire and fall. We tend to quicklybury or burn our dead,or, in some cases, strip … Continue reading →

The man who said, Who loves me, loves my dog,would have the name of one—and a saint at that. On the day of Bernard’s death in 1153, we recall thisprolific writer of 530 letters and 300 sermons, the man who … Continue reading →

I envisioned two rows runningalongside my driveway, thoughEarnest, who came to install them, anchored them three abreast,settling the new red bricks intoa long, sandy bed, the smooth border a first step in the front yardresculpture, the beginning of a takingapart … Continue reading →