Here on Tonawanda Street, the drunk mechanic’s wife is launching rafts of pansies. In other yards, tulips’ scarlet and gold, azalea’s coral bursts, columbine, creamy white rhododendron, creeping phlox, scent of dogwood, drifts of lilac. Gingkos leafing out: pale green fans, butterflies. Beneath them, my dog, ball in his mouth, rolls in the new grass. … Continue reading Spring Comes to Tonawanda Street
by Sandra Kohler
The day you leave for a trip on which you’ll drive treacherous mountain roads alone for hours, I rehearse losing you, absurd gesture, useless practice for bearing the unbearable. The day seems autumnal, or perhaps a cold late August day when summer’s green’s gone gray, bleak. It’s June. The farm a mile down the road … Continue reading Rehearsal
by Sandra Kohler
The August lilies flower, the butterfly bushes, the rain-bowed tree hydrangea. The garden’s my challenge this morning. To see life steadily and see it whole – who could say that today? Whose life? A man’s life, a woman’s, an Iraqi’s, American’s, Italian’s, Somali’s? See with what lens? In my dream’s, we’ve just moved, I’m showing … Continue reading Daemon,
by Sandra Kohler
