Author Archives: janishaag

Instead of hoisting a sign with millions of others,we drove into the foothills to hang paintingsthat had belonged to a dearly departed belovedfor her daughter, to spend timein remembrance. We waved at those holding signs on cornersin the small towns … Continue reading →

Dear Mrs. Lester, You will be happy to know, I think,in these months of greening that wemortals think of as spring, that your deardaughter—the child you produced primarily,or so I imagined, to become my best friend,the girl next door—sent me … Continue reading →

It’s not about Sundayor any day, really,it seems to me, one spectacularly unqualifiedto postulate on suchdivine matters. Nowadays I find the sacredin the everydaynessof every day, in simple acts ofcontemplation as wemove through our days, looking at the worldwith wisdom … Continue reading →

You were born with wings.You are not meant for crawling, so don’t.You have wings.Learn to use them and fly. —Rumi First, we have to land in these bodies.We think we landed ages ago, at birth, but really, we often fight … Continue reading →

(for Rosie) Would mean that you, hatchling,would have pecked your way ourof your shell and emerged, wet and wondering, into a warmingworld, into a flush of green flutteringits leafy fingers, shielding you as you grow. It would mean thatyou know … Continue reading →

(for Margery Thompson) I first made your mother’s custardsfor your mother some 26 years agoin her last year of her life— her faithful recipe neatly inkedonto the 3×5 card that you gave meafter she died. Easy, you said. I, one … Continue reading →

Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night. —Rainer Maria Rilke, from “Letters of Rainer Maria Rilke” ••• If they were cars, they’d be … Continue reading →

(for Popoki) There was rain in the nightjust before dawn when I tiptoedinto the kitchen to peek at hersleeping in the cardboard boxshe had chosen near the back door. I had lined it with towels easilylaundered, now that accidents oftenhappened, … Continue reading →

When you blast poppy orangeall over March likean enthusiastic kid fixatedon that one color screaming“Me! Me!” in the crayon box. You are spitting up poppies everywhereall at once with some stocky lupinethrown in—both the lemon varietyand the vibrant purple, not … Continue reading →

My sister posts under a poem I’ve sharedabout our mother, Miss you and dreamt of you and Dad last night. And I, not for the first time, envy myyounger sister—far more slender, blonder, more organized and efficient than I.But not … Continue reading →