Great Mysteries Abound In ChildhoodWe have young years  To generate enough gloryAnd wonder To sustain us for a lifetimeLike an acorn that feeds the seedling of an oak The memories made  In a soft new mind are more  Gentle, precious and powerful Not stained with the egoNot made pale, filtered, or twisted by the machine of adult lifeSo cup them in your handThose distant pungent pictures  Your … Continue reading Great Mysteries

   Between Worlds, Still Dreaming The cicadas are back. Shimmery wings. Slow gait. Big thick bug bodies transform  In their determined obsolescence.  Fireflies in heavy dusk Repeat their phosphorescence. The delicate husk of my rib cage holds a murmur of night birds taking a deep breath. I wake up with your elbow on my hair, and notice you staring out at the nothingness  of the … Continue reading Between Worlds, Still Dreaming

In this endless rain The peonies have laid down Like fluffy white dogs In their exhausted abundance I am reminded of my Breasts many years ago, With a steady stream of milk Meandering unconsciously over pale painful curves. I am encased Sometimes suddenly by memories A momentary chrysalis embrace. Like thinking of my own mother All those years ago Sunglasses and sawdust Adorning her hair … Continue reading May 2016

My Son And the Sea In a meditative trance I watch him converse with the ocean, prancing on cold sand. Screaming with guttural abandon to the white foam joyfully, wildly. Later I asked him what the ocean was saying to him and he replied thoughtfully “WHOOSH.”  Art by Peter Sugarman Continue reading My Son and the Sea

My Son and the dream He handed me something from his dream this winter as he rocked his head side to side and opened his eyes. I just smiled at his sleep filled face and thanked him. It must have been something I needed. In that cold night he must have known about the hole in my chest. I want to tell him about hearing … Continue reading My Son and the Dream

Coming home for the first time on my street in Richmond, Virginia. Turning off of Riverside, the last of the fallen angels soften my ascent: blazing golden Ginko leaves. I’m up here on the second floor painting my room with Blue Lace. decorating an altar. creating a place. From these new windows where I look out at sycamore trees and green rain, Where I hear the … Continue reading Sycamore House

Giving Thanks in Bitter Cold Deciduous lace Earthbound coral Reaching like veins Against a hushing light Stripped naked Earthen bones exposed to the clear blue cold A blueprint of our energetic bodies Held up to the sky A reminder of mortality Stitched too tightly to see Rusty blue tangerine rises above the yawn of highway These mighty days They settle inside for the winter like … Continue reading Winter ’15 

  I wonder what is stirring in my little son’s heart as he gazes out over the contour of my cheekbone from the back seat. I feel his thinking eyes quietly watching me. I, the woman who has pulverized our life as we knew it. I, who left his father, strangling the remains of a cyclone of aggression and transgression and sorry. I, the woman … Continue reading Thinking Eyes

Rebirth in The End of Long Days I have taken shelter in the subtleties of my carapace created by years of careful self defense How long I tumbled tangled in that web waiting for someone else to set me free All along suspended sacrificial and bound by a tight fabric of cluttered perception In another hand behind your mind your heart is softening again soft as … Continue reading Poem for Dia de Los Muertos

Toilsome Days That Lingered Are Softy Waning Southbound train lurching and gliding through garish nightmares of kudzu Rattling past back doors power lines fluffy waving cotton faces of the American Southeast Every flashing image is like one of Tommy’s paintings My little son saying Wow Wow Wow The red maples reminding me that this is the 3rd season of my new life whole and alone … Continue reading Toilsome Days