Gray Choices I come from the dry cleaners chemical steam staining my shallow breath like my brother’s ashes that cannot stay on the mantle watching us wondering where to put them I come from the tulip garden tall stems like picket fences that need painting petals drop and rest in dirty sunshine sullen remnants of the bloom... Continue Reading →
My Dad Kneeling in Front of Flower Bed on Abington in Detroit I look for lilacs to steal or forsythia even lilies of the valley, those shy bells of fragrance any handful hanging over a fence in an alley along the sidewalk in this mountain town some forgotten flower I can take home each spring... Continue Reading →
It's Bridget's birthday today. So for her, I'll post something different. The opening of a short story: "Fold and Gish," a coming of age tale. Not about youth getting older, but older folks becoming alone. It's a look at the empty nest. I wrote this long before I had one, an empty nest that is,... Continue Reading →
We stitch together what we can from our lives, avidly trying to make sense of it all. Yesterday's subtle sunset in the west, a simple display of gray swathes with a few thin golden lines, lovely and soft, essential but not memorable. Lo and behold, turn around and that same simple daily decsent has indeed... Continue Reading →
pocket poet 