Author Archives: janishaag

“Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.“—Virginia Woolffrom her novel, “Mrs. Dalloway,” 1925 ••• Of course, she would. She could choosewhat she wanted that way, the just-right nosegays and peonies with some merrydaisies thrown in for her party. … Continue reading →

(in memory of Nell Lester) At the end of the afternoonwe three stand on the small deckoverlooking the unfenced yard thatyawns into a green swath of trees,as Sue, after filling the big feeder,also spreads a thick seed ribbonacross the deck … Continue reading →

(For Deb) On a glorious windless morningwalk by the river, we admirethe longstanding trees still loaded with the season’sfull complement of green.Surely they must gaze at their reflections onthe unusually glassy surface,as we do, and think, in this snapshot of … Continue reading →

(for Mom) Our shadows walk side by side,yours pushing the apparatus that helps you stand taller, ache less,and in our shadows I imagine a much younger you pushinga much younger me in a different kind of rollingcontraption, perhaps just as … Continue reading →

We forgave. We remembered. We made cocktails. We got tender.— Jenny Hollowell from “A History of Everything” If we live long enough, with luck,we soften around the edges,some of us growing doughy,most of us wrinkly, even in placesthat surprise us—the … Continue reading →

So let’s invent some: • All the Stuff That Bloomed in JuneHad Died—Do I Have Time or EnergyTo Plant More Before It All Dies Again? • Time For a Rain Dance Because One MoreDamn Day of 100-Degree Weather andI’m Gonna … Continue reading →

Way back in the previous century,I soloed Saturdays in the officeof an international wire service,posted there to cover the newfangledCalifornia lottery. I’d have the TV on, glancing upfrom my huge CRT monitorat the Big Spin, a game show-styleprogram where lucky … Continue reading →

(for the good folks at Vic’s Ice Cream in Sacramento) The thing is that it’s real turkey,carved off the bird, all the wayto the carcass, like the aftersof Thanksgiving when you hack off a pieceof white meat, slap on it … Continue reading →

We asked for a mapbut, as she accepts,she gives us a compass, not directions exactly,but pointing the way tomore of what we hold in our hearts—awayfrom fear and meannessto y’all come and everyone in the pool.It’s summer, and shemakes us … Continue reading →

I wonder sometimes if I am writing the same poem over and over.If I’ve lived in the rooms of the lines so long, I’ve left crease marks on the furniture. —Maya Stein ••• Perhaps this is why I don’t invite … Continue reading →