Sunday Morning News

Someone delivered a newspaper.

It landed with a plop a few minutes ago.
I just looked out my bedroom window
I see its familiar orange bag.

We haven’t had the news delivered
since dad died.

Dorothea’s dad died yesterday.

It must be them reminding us
the are always there if we need them.

Come Home

You are gone for just a breath.
But in this still dark night
Your pillow full, not body next
to mine, I a reminded of
my oneness. Come home soon.

Black Velvet

I cannot look upon
her elegant eyes
any longer.

Her delicate being
frozen. Her white skin
framed in black velvet.

Lies. All lies.

I cannot look upon her.


I listen to him speak.

Exaggerations of his
and promises,
his money
and his lies
flow like spring run-off
from his mouth.

And that is no exaggeration.


In silence of the two o’clock hour,
I move aside my bedroom curtains
to see your almost full glow
smiling down on me as you’ve
blessed the world for eternity.


Inside this place
set in the space of me
I still myself to hear you,
know your breath,
see your light.

Inside this space
I become what
I am meant to be.


I remember apricot tea
and iced cakes with sugar
flowers. With places set
in rose rimmed china
trimmed with gold.
White gloves and lace-ruffled
anklets. Black patent leather shoes
with silver buckles.
That’s how we played grown-ups.


I prefer the word
release. Loss grips. Release breathes.
I prefer release.



Mom, don’t you love me anymore?
Am I not your Bean?
No walks today.
Just sitting.
No chasing balls.
Just sitting.
I think you love someone else.

Wait. What’s that I hear?
Yes! A cheese wrapper.

Mom, I love you forever.





Baba Jaga

Baba Yaga, by Roxanna Bikadoroff 2007 Ink, water color and acrylic on paper

Don’t cross Baba Jaga,
the woman of fury, who rides
on a broom through the forest.

Her chicken-legged house spins
as she grinds her intention with
mortar and pestle to please.

Her nose hooked above,
her bum on the stove. But, really,
she’s just a kind grandmother.

She dwells with sweet animals and
would never hurt a fly.

She’d like your company, I’m certain.

So, go not afraid to Baba Jaga’s house,
but be sure all your deeds are completed.






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