That rose, so pendulant and yellow, she glimpsed outside the kitchen window wasn’t from the slip her mother sent her with across the ocean,
Another Holy Day – the table cannot hold Creation as it is: the eight-month-old enraptured with his reach; the toddler who paints with gravy;
After my parents took the newborn nursery away, the companionable rows of fisted infants, humming nurses, gentle light I became a cynic. With no
they learn to look both ways our clever cousins crows, squirrels, jays, raccoons using streetlights to spot what hunts them choosing a well-fed life