Author Archives: janishaag

They nestle inside like a hundredtiny puppies waiting to be born, snuggled so tight they can hardlybe separated. But my visiting friend from Canada studied the driedpods dotting the gangly husks of formerly green stalks. She,who understands the nature of … Continue reading →

…it is a serious thingjust to be aliveon this fresh morningin the broken world. —Mary Oliver Awakening earlier than you’d like,somber, sober, shielding your eyes from the insistent dawn, youdampen your face and sigh. Look at this fresh morningbreaking out … Continue reading →

Every year on his birthdayRingo invites his fansto send peace & love to the universe,a concept that’s neverleft him, one that should neverleave us—not outof optimistic idealism but because lovereally is all there is.All you need is love, love me … Continue reading →

I don’t know her name,but I can’t miss the woman’s voicein the row behind me belting out the old spiritualwith the projection of onewho has sung on stages: I’ve got peace like a river,I’ve got peace like a river,I’ve got … Continue reading →

Three days before what wouldhave been your 94th birthday,as I’m driving home with newlypedi’d toes, relaxed and happy, I pull up behind a waiting-to-turn,arrest-me-red Corvette witha shiny Texas license platethat stops me. N-R-G, it says, as I look throughthe windshield … Continue reading →

You are the perennially left out,the ignored, the tromped on, some of the hardest workingamong us. And it’s the us I want to embrace today of all days,the us of the we, the people, whose feet and hands and backsache … Continue reading →

Though I wouldn’t mind supporting the localcarrier pigeon racing club or youth sports orthe Urban League, I don’t buy fireworks. The pop and snap and sizzle startle me—always have—which makes me like the dogswho prefer to hide when all the … Continue reading →

fine (fee-nay) noun: the place where a piece of music finishes;“the end” in Italian ••• The house is really theirs now,the sign with our name replacedby a new one with theirs, which is as it should be,as my sister and … Continue reading →

(In appreciation of East Lawn Cemetery, Sacramento, California) The cemetery of my heartis not unlike the one I walk throughas if it’s a lovely park, which it is—large, undulating with greennessand tall pines, not to mentiona vast field of well-scrubbedtombstones. … Continue reading →

Why Sunday I don’t know, but I swearthat’s when I hear them panting,their little green tongues hanging out, especially in summer, when I check oneach of them and carry them to the sink,place them on the pink plastic mat, murmuring … Continue reading →