The gray field of the rain had risen.
She slept on the worn patchwork quilt of the sky.
When
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Poetry
The gray field of the rain had risen.
She slept on the worn patchwork quilt of the sky.
When
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Purple Lakers cap,
just back,
from a family trip to Los Angeles.
Or maybe,
we had been
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I sit in a chair
that melts to nothing
beneath me. I close my eyes
because she says I can
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Keep in mind there were three daughters,
One graceful and pretty, one fierce and
gallant, one
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Binaural classics on repeat while she
sleeps and writes and eats, and
D, vitamin variety, fo
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"I may be some time," he said,
easing on his fleece-lined boots.
We laughed and clinked ou
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Amongst my mother-in-law's hoarded treasures,
a rusted Normal Rockwell tin
weighted down
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Like pasteboard, the seeping planks
buckle underfoot, marked easily
with fingernail or jagged
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Dare we invite the dreamwolf in,
to jump through our chaste window,
carry us over the midnight
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At first, it seemed a movement of
spontaneous joy;
a pause,
a stretch of arms and hands,
a
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I don't recommend it.
You might wind up like me,
with spiders on your lips,
crawling out like
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we spent seven years
planning our route
thieved maps and charts
marked the dangerous spaces
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Your widow came in to the bank today
Waving the certificate of your suicide around;
I go
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The summers aren't so lonely on Plum Island.
It's me, the plum trees, the plum birds,
and the
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dreaming in San Francisco is like
dreaming inside a cloud
where the promises of our parents
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Flocks in flight,
Murmurations
Of rippling ribbons
Against rain-full skies
Above the
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window seat
facing forward
racing westward on rails;
every twist a next vista
the last
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With a bit of whistling and a roll of the wrist
I slipped into some rusty overalls to go
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