I’ve posted a few of my poems here:



Viewed from overhead,

we form an inkblot

as we lie in bed:

each facing an outer wall,

backs together, knees

bent in unison, soles

of our feet touching.

Mirrored, married sleep.

We could be a butterfly

or some monster

ready to pounce upon

the unsuspecting other –

the something wed

to symmetry.

(“Inkblot” was first published in The Sow’s Ear Poetry Review)



Where the Crocus Waits

You dig the peonies.  I replant them.

I think about how much we love this work:

the uprooting, the thinning, the covering up.

It’s our secret work.

Both of us dizzy with visions

of blooms that will come in another season.

We know what beauty lies beneath the surface.

What it is to wait.

One day, we too shall know this splendor –

disappear to where the crocus waits.

Where nothing matters but the will to flower.

The great pushing up.

(“Where the Crocus Waits” was first published in Tiferet)




How to Grieve in Winter

In waiting rooms of intensive

care units, women sit, stand

or lie down in front of

strangers.  Little warmth,

still our bodies lean toward

the light.  We search

for nourishment in vending

machines, pace back and forth

in narrow hallways, toss and

turn on commercial couches,

sign a durable power

of attorney.  I want to run

outside, gather firewood, chop

off my hair, stain my face

with the husks of walnuts,

leave my handprint on the wall

of a cave, pour a prayer

into a sand painting, make

pilgrimage to a sacred

mountain, set fire

to a braid of sweet grass.

Then cleanse your body

with oil of cedar, cover us both

with the skin of a grizzly.

Sleep straight through

this long mean season.  Dream

ourselves back to a new


(“How to Grieve in Winter” was first published inThe Heartland Review and was a finalist in the Joy Bale Boone Poetry Prize. )