Years ago when we lived in Las Cruces, New Mexico, in a wonderful little adobe house with two rosebushes, a pomegranate tree, and an apricot tree that hung over the neighbor's fence into our yard (and with fruit, location is ownership, right?), many of the neighbors had suns hanging on the porches or on the... Continue Reading →
I have journaled, kept a diary, put the pen to my brain, so to speak, since I was five years old. And I have that diary, still. My favorite entry being one where I expressed how seriously furious I was at my brother Bernie. It's like peeing. Sorry, but it was the first metaphor that... Continue Reading →
The girls were asked this question quite often by their once estranged father. And often, for someone who disappeared to the far corners of the earth, of depression, or both, and surfaced randomly every several months, I suppose, means a few times. And a few times, in the course of the years in which the... Continue Reading →
When They Go I take back my house missing and pushing the girls out at once – go! give me space, stay! I need your sweet and smart and beautiful there is no one on the roof no one in my car no one sleeping in my bed or on my couch or spare bedroom,... Continue Reading →
thirty toes just thirty toes adorned in inches of color and sole ten climb naked no matter the cold ten spin shiny in patent and bold pointed and pricey and ready to go the ten toes I know the very best they ground our dance, assure we rest under the covers or peaking from fur... Continue Reading →
pocket poet 