Category Archives: Uncategorized

on to the nextin to the breachunto the horizonjust out of reach over to the sidein view of the seanearby lies younext to lies me between or betwixtbecause of, you sayunder or overapart from the fray during & afteralongside we … Continue reading →

We fear what we can’t see,but none of us can seewhat’s on the other side. We’re not even convincedthat there is another side,which frightens us all the more. This can’t be it, can it?We want so much more—more time, more … Continue reading →

Though these fish have never traveledthis far up their home waters, they are making their way uprivernow after their long journey from the sea where they will deposittheir precious cargo of the next generation in a place their ancestorsswam more … Continue reading →

“Poem”: meaning “a made thing”—poet Pádraig Ó Tuama From poesis in Greek—making—the oldest term for a poet was maker. So we make things,though not things that can be held—as painters or sculptors do—or put on walls or shelves for admiring … Continue reading →

As I drive across the causewayI think of the bats underneathwho surely must be sleepingat high noon, given that theyemerge at dusk on theirappointed rounds asinsect catchers andgood stewards ofthese rice fields. I wonder if all the traffic noisebothers them … Continue reading →

You do not remember that self,that more-than-half-century-ago self, that skinny girl with braces and so muchlife ahead of her, though she sports the crinkly left eye that still looks smaller when yousmile, as if you are winking, just like your … Continue reading →

It’s been a long day, and you’re losing lightfaster now, the days shortening longbefore you’re ready, and at the busy intersection where it alwaystakes longer than you like for the lightto go green, you look beyond what’s in front of … Continue reading →

I don’t math for spit,as you, little sister,well know, and though neither of usis losing her hair (thankthe goddesses of tresses), you can’t be that oldbecause you still look45ish, while I’m rocking my old white-hairedself at 66. And besides,I have … Continue reading →

There she is,lying on the sidewalkas if the artist has left her there for passers-bylike me, her cherry cheeksbeaming, her purple hair streaming into—is thataqua?—so colorful,so fashionable down to her fuchsia shoes.What I like best are herextended arms—her here I … Continue reading →

(for Kay Duren) Taking a bag to the can on the streetin deep night, having forgotten earlier, I step into shine so radiant thatI could be working on a tan out here. And, marveling at the density of myshadow on … Continue reading →