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
when a storm surged for days off the Mexican Coast and finally breached California shores Old Testament style and flushed our streets with epic amounts of spring clean rain. In the morning epidemiologists reported the virus was last seen in filmy rivers jumping the curbs in San Diego. Oceanographers are saying this event makes history… Continue reading I Dreamed the Pandemic Was Purged
Today it isn't just the fresh marsh grass that inspires me, each blade bent and turned to glass polished by a quiet rain, a gull that perches every morning on the fence at the lagoon cocky with his trash talk and with dawn shining off his breast, the clouds that race to stay ahead of… Continue reading Despite the Mess of Us All
My first three teeth fell out last night at Sarah's fortieth birthday party and I mistook them for pebbles or seashells in my jaw and shored them underneath my tongue. I spit them out in two pink flowered paper towels that danced in the powder room and— the mirror handed me two more— returned for… Continue reading Dreams in the Time of COVID-19
ghosted west to the sea and I missed my off ramp like most of the others who prayed to the fire gods oh please, not me, and I saw from a distance the mean residue of burnt chaparral and blistered black trees, the carports and cribs of suburban tribes who fled with heads down from… Continue reading A Column of Smoke
I can’t read his words, but because of the way they justify left and stagger at right I think that the stranger I see every morning at Starbucks might be a poet like me. This much I know from two tables away: He doesn't seem to measure the meter with fingers that count on the… Continue reading A Partner in Poetry?
Your eye's an aperture to the unnamed and far away from its orphaned twin, so what should I choose to receive my appeal— the fathomless one, or the one on the left? Never mind. Daylight has fled like minnows, the white of your eye is a gibbous moon that’s taking in the foolishness of… Continue reading To the Whale That Swims Beside Me
Grandma, I just love your veins, touching one protruding on my left hand, watching it sully from side to side. Grandma, your hands are like specimens, my own interpretation. Veins reminiscent of invertebrates in the Natural History Museum— earthworms, centipedes, those that squirm and seek shelter. If a museum object: Left hand, mature female homo sapiens, Caucasus, sepia-colored… Continue reading Hand, or Specimen?
Was I ever real enough to see a hummingbird hover outside my room certain that it was my mother again enough of a presence for baby lizards to leap from the sidewalk like exclamations startled by the shadow of me to gape at a fallen sycamore leaf big as Goliath’s Philistine hand with all five fingers curled in a… Continue reading Before I Was Real at the DMV
In sunlight it’s prairie grass rippled by a wind, a meadow rill that tumbles past to yellow’s end. A whisper of secrets shared with cheeks and face, or captured in a braid, her hair crocheted like lace. At night it spills across her brow, frothy champagne bubbling and breathy, now intoxicating. Someday begging to be… Continue reading A Young Girl’s Blonde Hair
This ring of redwoods is patient beyond any patience I ever waited for. Patient in peaceful protest against the meanness of time, and with the ground that cringes underneath their roots, the rumble and creak of a weary world. Patient with the roar of civilization they swallow to save us from ourselves, and once absorbed… Continue reading Tolerance as Taught by the Redwoods