Atoms for Peace

five +/- (6) “Atoms for Peace” graffiti seen at the Café Mondrian on the Boulevard Saint-Germaine, etched on a coppery bathroom ornament, some kind of announcement for all the little deities who have survived the smashing and orbited back to the void. The Absinthe Drinker, Edouard Manet   Atoms for Peace

Heads or Tales

5 lines, day 5   I pledge to read each day’s oncoming slaughter as a penniless dark spur opening beneath a cataclysm of daisies

Iron Skillet

  Five lines (+/-), day 4.   Iron skillet You school me with your trochees and well-oiled forgery seasoned with elbow grease so that nothing not the overnighting left overs not the knife marks not the hunger stay for long, the most anyone could ask from fire.  

Lines Composed . . . (Five lines, day 3)

Lines Composed after the Lasagna Dough Has Been Made I get it now—elasticity— the tug and curl of edges against arms and flat surfaces. Forcing the matter. The staying. The giving.

Five lines (day two)

elliptical shifts bequeath February with truant light; shape shifter skies— like lamppost bulbs—following the timed ascent to evening

Five lines

Years ago, when I fell into what is sometimes referred to as “writer’s block,” I found an outlet in haiku, tanka, cinquain, and other short form poems. I made a pledge to myself to write three lines a day, sometimes five. I was able to keep it up for over a year, until the file […]

Just around the corner

With temperatures dipping, snow falling or rain threatening, I have thoughts of spring and dreams of robins and tortoises, bees and rainbows. Please, “Tell me what time the weaver sleeps . . . ” Here is Emily Dickinson Bring me the sunset in a cup, Reckon the morning’s flagons up And say how many Dew, […]

Winter Work

  Winter Work Snow piles thick like skin of lost pachyderms, the ones filed into burnt tomes of obsolete glossaries. Shovel in hand I plow with fortitude into bellows of white, a knee’s worth, sugary and full of honeycombs. Slopes and muscles meet and I scoop into wicked luminosity, slay lathered pathways and toss the […]

Until Nomading Ends

Giving up the shell can be hard, but so worth it. After nomading, we find home. Abandonment Naked, the crab forgets his hermit ways, creeping in the oyster underworld, brushing against minnow fins and ugly red claws, until nomading ends, and a home, spiraled in calcium, appears. A watery cosmos of green awaits the refugee […]

My Better Self

  My good friend Mary Fletcher (in cahoots  with my secret-keeping husband Eric) painted my portrait. It was a Christmas surprise, but also a wonderful celebration of the end of the year, the beginning of the new year, and especially our friendships and love of art. It’s also a never ending birthday gift. As strange […]