How I Am Faring

I had to count them, and in doing this realized
not one or two but several months had passed
enough in quantity that like corralled cattle
they seemed (in retrospect) so very close that
one loses count of the blur and only today
I thought about coming up on nine months

At times I have woken up bathed in loss but
I have also done what a woman who finds
herself alone for such lengths would do
which is to build a dam across a river
once rising so high it drowned the birds

Some days I am visited by butterflies but
find it best not to think of animals as signs
The only path is to accept this as-is in the
absence of hope; this mindset is workable
like a scratched but steady end table and
the blouse I wear despite its missing button

(Spring 2017)


The Burning

See the houses, burn them down;
let the ashes to charred ground.
Tear the shirt from shaking back,
take the feast but give them bread.
No more feast? We take the bread
and leave a twister in their heads
and leaves of winter falling dead
among the ashes on the ground
among the houses all burned down



With the day
at the far side
and given it
may be a while
until its return,
as much as
you’re able
to too easily
fumble toward
the soft belly
of your cave,
once ready,
another way
is to unfold
all the parts
and lift open
both eyes to
take count of
how many
are trying
to put candles
in your hands

(April 21, 2020)


Young Tomatoes

The sun had not crested the wall
I was sure you were sleeping
when I lifted the covers and
stepped out into the yard

In a world both quiet and warring
the air can feel tight, no? But
then I see what I’ve created
together with our Mother

I speak to them; we touch. With the
scent of tomatoes on my hands
how can I not feel at home
despite what today brings

(March 31, 2020)