Be A Poet 1. Be a poet. Be that person who dreams at the bed’s edge. Be that light between night and dawn. Between the letters that pause. Sit below w’s stems. Be as quiet as dancing alone or be as loud as tomorrow. 2. Quiet days give way to summer's heat. And thunder. Roll... Continue Reading →
As we approach the fiftieth anniversary of the '67 Detroit Race Riots, I thought I would share a short story set in Detroit at that time. "This is the end, beautiful friendThis is the end, my only friend, the end."*(Jim Morrison) Perfect Sanctuary I stopped telling the truth to our parish priests in 1967, the... Continue Reading →
When I was pregnant with my girls, and not knowing they were girls, I hoped they would be. Girls. For one reason. I thought it would be easier to raise female feminists than to raise male feminists. That's my truth. Not proud. Just is. I wasn’t up to what I believed would be too difficult... Continue Reading →
Throw Rugs Like insurance they seem to cover so little no matter how big or ornate they lay; dust bunnies hover about, forever waiting for cleaning rolling sweeping it under. They collect a bit of the day’s dirt or a boot’s drips, the remnants of a monsoon or blizzard soaked into an intricate Mexican print... Continue Reading →
I didn't know I was doing it until I had done it. It's like going on a new hike, a bit of a mystery. You leave the trail head with a little trepidation. Can I do this? You've looked at the map. It makes sense. (Always a worry.) You wonder how steep the climbs will... Continue Reading →
pocket poet 