I’ve posted a few of my poems here:
Inkblot
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)
m
m
m
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
beginning.
(“How to Grieve in Winter” was first published inThe Heartland Review and was a finalist in the Joy Bale Boone Poetry Prize. )
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