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Poetry
Poetry
Shift
An elderly man prepares broccoli with slivered almonds and lemon juice, his hands shaky. An elderly woman snores and dreams in her cane rocker, Brahms crescendoing on the radio, Wheel of Fortune muted on the television.
April 2025Poetry
April 2025
My Favorite Bird
I prefer the fence-colored bird / who has no song, / or none that he shares with me. // Each day at dusk he stops by to scold me. / Quietly, with a stiff hop. / He seems to know I’ve wasted the day.
April 2025
Poetry
The Loneliest Monk Listens
The first step is to imagine. / No, before that: breathe. Breathe, and know / breath. That’s where it begins.
April 2025
Poetry
Regards
A big bumbling bee / hovers like a chopper near your head / and you were going to swat him / but instead you laugh and wave / like a nut because you’re not / at your job and at times / it can be nice to be regarded.
March 2025Poetry
Snowdrops
Dad was happiest in early spring, / when the lake thawed and the fish stirred. / When bluegills rose to snowflakes. / When the whole world got hungry.
March 2025Poetry
Like Love Is A Heart
I hate it / when they do that. Like I’m easy / to love. Like love is a heart / he can sit behind / the wheel of, drive / through town, windows / down, dog and girl along / for the ride, as if he’ll never / ever change his mind.
March 2025
Poetry
Classroom Hatch
I try to feed the chicks mealworms from my hands, / crouching there sometimes for hours. // I can’t remember how / to make them believe in kindness.
February 2025
Poetry
Wild
I was a sleepwalker through most of those days. A passenger in / my own life. I couldn’t look / to my family and see myself reflected there. I was / born to no one. I was wild.
February 2025Poetry
Hymn
We exist on the cusp of light and ruin. / Some nights I pray for time // to fold into itself, then spit us out / small and smooth like tumbled rocks, // alloys of past and present.
January 2025
Poetry
Cows in the Parking Lot of the Emergency Dentist
The day I waded out of the lake with a stand-up / paddleboard and a split tooth was four days after I knew / I would leave you and eight days before I told you / I knew.
January 2025
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