Home is becoming unstuck When we get to be awestruck Sweet-hope home is through the door Not a place, love we adore My journey began and ended with a tanaga. I wrote 28 poems, with a detour when I inadvertently cheated by posting a few…

Blessings for these things: the prayers you prayed for me, the Mad Magazines you bought us, the freedom to explore anywhere, the macaroni and cheese, please, that had a pound of cheese any kind a stick of butter 2 cups of bread crumbs 4 cups…

Wake Up the visible becomes light Awake, O sleeper, Arise from the dead and Christ will shine on you.” Wake yourself, you who have drunk from the hand of the LORD the bowl the cup of staggering. Awake, awake, put on your strength for no…

My spice cabinet, filled to the brim with sweet and savory magic, you are a wonder. The grinder and you have taught me to make my own masalas–chai, garam, Arab and Chinese five-spice. You open doors of the possible and make my cooking soar to…

I wrote about walking during the day, as it now noon here. Outside It’s an oven outside The air mostly just hot, still, what you might expect at noon near the summer solstice on a desert island. Onions are frying in ghee for someone’s lunch,…

A Self Portrait After Adam Zagajewski – The frame I used is from his poem, and I have put them in italics. Between my cell phone, the kitchen, and my love seat half my day passes. It is well past half a century. I live…

Just Be Still, and Listen… Come, sit here with me awhile. No need to speak, little one. No rush. Listen to the hush. I have stories true to tell.

He read the whole plan in a book He intended to ease himself into the water at midnight No one would know or blame themselves They would spend time looking but the plan was perfection marked with science, enzymes and bacteria He loved readying the…

Glug, glug, glug the water fills the mug. Swoosh, splash, plop, hubby pours it in the top. Hum, rattle against the metal. boils the soon-to-be tea in the kettle. Gurgle, bubble, ease,  Poured gently over the leaves. “Tea, my queen?” he says with a bow…

Yes Yes, is such a hope-filled word I wish I had said Yes to Brant when he was tangled in the emotions of being an 8-year-old from a broken family. Yes, to being the kind of teacher that gave him permission to be “naughty” (whatever…