Category: Belonging / Loneliness
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For Riva’s Franma
I’ve inhaled the last third of my half of low country blueberry pie Licked my fingers the four pronged fork and fed squirrels the crust With sugared lips and purple poop I return sated to ketosis 8-6-20
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Nuts
Knock, knock Is someone at the door or am I dreaming? I lie in the dark wondering where I put my mask. I wait for a second knock. Knock, knock Rolling sound on roof Dull thud on ground In a time of quarantine only a nut would come knocking unannounced at someone’s house 8-5-20
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That guy
I am that guy that guy who stands in a museum up close to a Frankenthaler painting looking at an individual stroke where a brush fiber rises up thinking everything I discern had meaning for the painter I am that guy that guy who stares at a Kahlo piece from across a gallery trying to…
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A rainy night haiku for our lonely quarantine
cicadas and rain tree frogs calling back and forth street lights with halos 7-6-20
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Lament #17
I read cicadas will be plentiful this summer Returning from long quarantine underground I miss the high descant keening above tree frog choruses I miss life begging come sit with me before we die I miss the closeness of being alive 6-19-20
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reflection
while night birds softly awaken the sun you try once again to empty the emotion of loss ___ the anger and arrogance anger of caring so much you hate your gift ___ you sing notes in your head you feel the reverberation inside roll off your tongue into the air ___ you caress notes and…
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Foraging the forest during the pandemic
Each morning, when the red-crested woodpecker calls out, again and again and again he puffs his chest goes tchurrrrrr-charr-charr-charr tchurrrrr-charr-charr-charr-chiiirl….. In the debris of the forest floor morels spring up like yachts and private jets feeding on corporate welfare rot Senate scattered for Wall Street handlers In mossy rust-belt northern woods we call them peckerheads…
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Spare the rod, Save the child
All night, you keep waking in school wooden paddles on bare skin stomach punches behind closed doors Cold winter hallways laughter in the classroom isolation you still feel They are probably all dead except in your head where they hide and never leave Bastards keep saying you deserve it and you hate yourself for wanting…
My husband's poetry 