Writer. Demand Poet.
—
When we are gone, we leave
Behind more than emptiness.
First there is our dust, which is
Obvious. Find the dead cat’s
Fur on your pant leg. Find the
Broken friendship still
Lingering on the bookshelf.
When we are … Read the rest “When We are Gone”
—
They’ve got the chairs unfolded and
Planted at the end of the driveway, facing
The world parade, and the children are
Singing say say oh playmate come out
And play with me which Granny taught
Them on our last … Read the rest “The Children Are Singing”
—
It’s all an illusion: to carry a
Coffee full and fret a
Little if it will drop on the white
Rug or if it will scorch your
Tongue. Eventually every cup
Goes cold and empty, just dregs
And those … Read the rest “To Get Things Done”
—
Try to guess the color of the
Next house you see and even if you are
Four you won’t probably say “lilac” — which isn’t quite
The right word for the shade of the
Purple house in New Jersey … Read the rest “A Purple House”
—
We are all on the verge
Of something. Like the serene
Beagle standing so still at the
End of his leash, yet shivering
For the ripe time to snatch
That little boy’s dangling sandwich.
We are on the verge … Read the rest “On the Verge”