The Gift of Time   Here’s this…oddly familiar cash box, the sort you use for a yard sale or craft show, I’ve just dug out of the ground where the roses are strangled. To say the previous homeowner had a green thumb would be…

Ordinary, middle-of-the-line, average, simple, median midline life of what was Before, but it’s the After post-crisis, picking up pieces and trying to fit the ‘normal’ in the non, the average in the odd, the sane in the new. There is no turning back to the Before, the world spins…

What is this trying to tell me It’s not something that I yearn What am I supposed to discover What am I supposed to learn There must be a reason To teach me what I need to know But all I see is hardships And…

Driving the highway pay my respects to squinched raccoon squirrel flattened like bearskin rug ‘Roadkill’ is what people call these roadway unfortunates but I think that misses so many marks For it wasn’t the road that killed them but the innate urge we all share…

Pick a sentence between one and ten You picked the same as the last I can sing Every word you say   I pushed a word in front of another Adjusted the predicate to your advantage   I’ve written more words Hidden under Parallel lines…

If someone wrote a poem about me, what would the lines say? Here is a woman who happens along every evening. Would they see the children on my hands, the dogs in the swing of my arms? The limp I carry as I drag one…

Be it my moon in Taurus  or another celestial configuration I treasure simple, soft things The old stuffed animal a warm pair of alpaca socks the blanket I absconded with  before it could be presented  as a gift to an unborn infant.   There is…

Open widely your arms and receive happiness! ‘coz the end is not here! Not yet! There’s still hope! Just learn where to find it!

I traveled the system, the secret system no one whispers about, fear they will be thrown in. I am a historian. I am a journalist. I belong here. Just for stabilization. Converted motel. Roommates three feet apart. Teresa with the stutter. Teresa with the seizures….

Step, two, three, four. Across the floor, out the door, Where the soft breeze blows and birds fly free.   Flap, flutter, flitter, fly. Birds go winging, swooping by, Where sweet grass grows in the meadow, green.   Putter, patter, pattern-step. Past where the silver…