It's sold now, the house on a distant hill, and the gulls are but echoes in my ears, the cistern of the harbor tipped and spilled, the limestone cliffs sundered by the years. I think about its white windowsills, the horizon edged in clean enamel paint— each a testament to Yankee will, invoking the… Continue reading Innocence and White Windowsills
Month: May 2019
Flat as a Prairie Is My Soul
Flat as a prairie is my soul— without canyon, without crest or cliff or hill to climb and stroll. Now that death has taken toll, flat is all that I have left— and dry: My tears have all been cried, my eyes are dry as prairie sand, empty of the liquid stars that shined… Continue reading Flat as a Prairie Is My Soul
Elegy for the Elephant
Tell me again how the grassland swayed as if in worship, waving to sky whenever the mute-footed giants walked by, and tell of the mountains on earth they made. Of how they left footprints around their graves from pacing with grief as deep as muddy rivers—and how they bowed to the bloodied ground. Remind… Continue reading Elegy for the Elephant
Why I’ll Never See Him Again
Because of a single juniper tree. Because of a 30-foot tree, and black ice. Because of a blue SUV, some black ice, and a juniper known as an Eastern red cedar. Because he drove with his eyelids half-mast alone in a narrow peninsula of thought. Because maybe far from the ice and the tree… Continue reading Why I’ll Never See Him Again