to the knee, post-election, I still take to the trail on foot.
An hour a day in the woods,
two miles tops, is as far as my bad leg goes.
After a while,
the good leg … Continue Reading ››
When Bret turned 50
I thought of my aunt
dead in her bed at 71,
alone in the gulley
where leaves rained
down from the hill.
She was 50 and I
was 23 in 1996, when
Charles and Diana
divorced, the first sheep
was cloned, and Peter,
Paul, and Mary were still
recording. Since 1966,
when … Continue Reading ››
Not the catalpa trees, but the worms themselves, not the worms
but the neighbor girl who slipped them through her lips, feeling their dry skin,
who also kept toads in plastic easter eggs and checked on them daily,
their growing stink something she could understand as the days grew longer
and her mother disappeared in a car and did … Continue Reading ››