Author Archives: janishaag

(for Don DeVorss) The man with the donated heart thatpowers him in his second life tells me, Succulents are survivors,and I say, Like you. And he grins, the once-upon-a-timeboy who rode the same bus as I to our rural elementary … Continue reading →

is that none of this has been inflictedupon you so that you’ll learn a lesson or grow a tougher skin or somehowbecome a better human. In fact, if it’d been up to us, we’d have pavedyour path with roses (or … Continue reading →

How often people tell me,You’re so lucky to have your mom,which crosses my mind on Momdays when I pick her upat the house by the lake in her carsince she no longer drives, as I deposit her at variousappointments, run … Continue reading →

The things you learnat a routine physical— how many times your heartexpands and contracts,how pressured it is,fueling your body, how your lungs soundto the man with thestethoscope, and, on a wall chartof the ear, nose and throat,discovering that yourlarynx, closed, … Continue reading →

Spring winds rose this morning,clearing the sky of clouds,snapping branches newly greened. Late in the day I walk amongthe leavings, registering themby name—black walnut, Japanese maple, Douglas fir—sorry that they have been felledso early in their lives. I know this … Continue reading →

(flying home from NYC) Every timeI marvel at the cloud blanketunraveling so far below to reveal the patchesunderneath the underneath—a quilted world stitched with invisiblethread outlining a freshgreen here, a diamond-sparkledrectangle there, studdedwith sun sprinkles. We are so close up … Continue reading →

So many sit on benchessurrounding the circular mosaic,companion spirits to the onewhose spirit certainly circles here— Imagine all the people— the ones who come to sit in the centerfor a photo, the ones who stand onthe almost forty-year-old tiles,his age … Continue reading →

(In memory of Lorraine Hansberry and Eleanor Roosevelt, whoeach lived by Washington Square Park in Greenwich Village) ••• After a week of livingin their neighborhood—albeit as a visitor— I walk by the buildingsthey once called home,the playwright and the first … Continue reading →

With my poet friend en routeto her reading on Long Islandinto the bowels of the renovatededifice looking nothing likethe original Penn Station withits 84 soaring Doric columns, itsconcourse covered by magnificentglass domes, an architecturalmarvel demolished six decadesago, more recently slingshot’dinto … Continue reading →

I’ve long admired street poets who set up a table with pens and paper (sometimes a typewriter) on a sidewalk or other outdoor space and write an on-the-spot poem for people passing by. On this trip to New York I’m … Continue reading →