Friday, February 19, 2021

The Snows

Snows come

the first of them joyous, 

though also a trick, well-played.  

Green now gone, wild life strays 

gray stays 

Bleak settles the bones deep 

on doleful winter faces

cheer sought, 

seemingly unattainable 

Nothing for you here, 

except all that comes with


eye on first growth

patient yearning for more and better spring 

Thursday, February 4, 2021




I used to collect sticks at random,

one from Princeton campus when I was 18

I kept it for 40 years until I lost it.

another I found in the woods next to a house I loved


It took me five years to not miss the house

I practically had a breakdown when we left

houses are not collectible, nor savable


I saved a tuft of my dead cat’s fur

it is tucked into a small cardboard jewelry box in my dresser drawer

I thought I could summon his DNA from that tuft

and that he would return 

during the night like an alien visitor


I had another cat.

he had a heart attack one day and died in my arms

it happened so fast

there was no saving him.


I stole river stones from Bittersweet Falls 

to mark my dead cat’s grave 

When we moved from the house I loved

I took the stones from his grave

and piled them on a windowsill 

in my new house

the stones felt smooth and cool in my hand as if they’d always belonged to me and I hadn’t stolen them at all


I save photos on my phone.

I have so many that the Verizon guy rolled his eyes

then he explained how the Cloud could help me with my problem.

I still don’t believe him.

I’m afraid to lose the photos. 

what if I lose the people?

the photos will be all that remain 
so I hoard the photos and 

hope for the best.


My mother and I correspond via U.S. mail

Mommy sends me cards she orders from the Immaculate Heart of Mary sisters

I send her artist cards that I buy at the co-op

her cards cost $.49 each

mine cost $3.00

both she and I like cards with birds on them

the cost of the birds is irrelevant


I save these cards from my mother;

she is 92 years old

each time one arrives in the mailbox whether it is my birthday or Christmas

I think “I am 68 years old

and receive cards from my mother.”

I say it out loud for emphasis


Her handwriting is still Catholic- schoolgirl-holy

my dresser drawer is crammed with these beauties

her beautiful DNA is on them


When she is gone, the cards will make it seem as if she is still with me

like a cat reincarnate

or river stones piled high on a windowsill

Wednesday, February 3, 2021

The Opening


The Opening

January 21, 2021

Come into my house

sweet people

little ones with stories

I have missed you

Strangers no more

time and space reclaimed

we shall grow to know each other better  

Between politics and pandemic there has been much 






Come to me,

new friend

let us cultivate the thrill of our novelty with

bold humor

new music

forget work and responsibility for a while 

make curry

drink deep dark wine

skip school and go hiking in the wild

Come back into my life,

old friend 

my Constant

Stream of thought and being

always known,

too long forgotten  

all because of mutual misunderstandings

Skewed ideals 

Quick tempers


Devious plots

Angry fires

I promise now,

hand on my heart 

if it convinces you further

Come into my house

I will remember kindness

share softness 

dispel your fear 

feed the hunger

listen to your stories