One year ago today…
February 2, 2012

…this blog came into the world.  Perhaps this passage of time is meaningful.  Perhaps I am a better poet than I was then.  I did not choose Groundhog Day on purpose, but it makes me think of rodents running the world – groundhog shadows dictating the seasons, hamster wheels turning the world on its axis, the internet powered by the body electricity of a million white mice in glass-walled laboratory tanks.  My not-so-secret wish is that I want to tap the glass and make their bodies scatter.  Making waves.  Internet fame.  Maybe I’ll write a rat of a poem, or a ferret, a weasel.  Something that keeps you awake at night with its eyes.  I’ll write a black bear waking up to spring, emaciated after a long sleep through cold months.  I’ll write a blue heron.  You won’t see it coming.   You’ll glance out the window of your car, driving past a marsh, and all you’ll see is the wings spread against the clouds, and you’ll catch your breath.

Of all the years I have been alive, this has been one of them.



eight haikus for eighth week
October 30, 2011

To spare

I can’t stop myself.
Killing time, reviving it,
again and again.

Face paint washes off
with soap, with water, with time.
The layers fade fast.

Hands over my ears,
I block out waves, worlds, wonders.
No time for stray sound.

Hands over my eyes:
are they yours?  Could they be mine?
Time will teach me sight.

Hands over my mouth,
time to rest my lips and tongue.
I take silent vows.

I’ll be you next time;
we’ll switch roles in the doorway.
You’ll live in myself.

Double time, quick step,
march with me, run away now,
left right left skip leap!

Time to fly away.
Gather your shoes, pack things up.
Will you wave goodbye?

free verse
April 2, 2011


When the tabletop stares back at you
and the lamp lights nothing but empty air,
when all the alcoves are dark
and filled with dust and quiet
and the window is open
but the curtains are not stirring,
then you will know that your life
is standing still,
and you will find that you cannot lift your eyes
from the book lying open on the table
and the word you have been reading
for a day and a lifetime.
But if god is smiling on our little corner of the universe,
you will hear the phone ring in the kitchen,
and you will answer it
and forget the word typed in black ink
and the tabletop and the spiders in their dark haunts.
You will wash your hands
with dish soap in the kitchen sink
and remember that you let the dog out
one hundred years ago
and that it is getting dark.