Author Archives: janishaag

And there, as the drops fall, I circlethe labyrinth, holding spacefor a single pilgrim walking— Blessings on your journey— on this stormy Sunday thatcouldn’t be more different thanyesterday’s blue-sky perfection, today next to another impulsivecreek burbling its way river-ward,when I … Continue reading →

I tell six women on a too-earlySaturday morning, as they tugon gloves, wrap themselvesin scarves to head into the chillof a winter morning to walka circuitous route to the centerof a labyrinth and then back outagain. Even if you think … Continue reading →

At the intersection of grin and smilepointing the way to happywhether you know it or not you made your way here to standon the edge of this circle and absorbwhat you think has eluded you so soak it up, buttercup,let … Continue reading →

Your transition stanza is muchlike a bridge in a song, cleverlychanging from gray to blue, someone writes in a comment aboutone of my poems, and, admiringher nice simile and specific color images, I take a teacherlymoment to tell her that … Continue reading →

It seizes your nostrils with asweet, pungent zing—a hitof oxygen that arrives beforethe rain, an electrical charge splittingnitrogen and oxygen moleculeswith an atmospheric ax, and though you don’t think of itas ozone (which it is) your brainmay flash with a … Continue reading →

I stand at my kitchen counter,two bags of them open-mouthedbefore me, ones that I took to my mother,who has returned them to mesaying, I can’t shell them. I can’t seethe shells from the nuts. I endup biting shells, which, given … Continue reading →

I like the way Brits sayhalf-four, that time between hoursto signal the midpoint,a sense of partly accomplishedand hope for what is to come. Today I am half-65,halfway to my next birthday—for many of my adult yearsnot a date I marked, … Continue reading →

You know how sometimes youmake something harder thanit has to be, which can feel like trying toshovel packed snow hardenedinto a giant ice cube? Or, today, like futzing witha simple poem to somehowforce it to sing when all the damn … Continue reading →

Keep a sharp eye out—it’s your the last chance to seethe Claw in action for the season— leaf season, that is, which in my cityruns from November to the end of January, though some of the most stubbornsycamore leaves will … Continue reading →

Do not disturb says the grass green signsprouting from bladesof a similar color, tiny grass is dreaming And if you peer closely,squint a bit, you mightsee tiny eyelids closed on those leaves of grass,infinitesimal lashesfluttering in sleep, growing as they … Continue reading →