Poetry

08 Mar

Posted at 17:14h in Poetry
5 Likes

Like a soul removed from my body, I watch; I see. I am swollen with a soup of emotion. I watch The miracle of a gift: My son. He is eight and sits crisscross style On the floor by the dogs. Studies and folds. He is absorbed in his art. His concentration does not falter. His...

07 Mar

Posted at 20:40h in Poetry
4 Likes

Hot as snot that day in July 1974, earth-steaming sticky. Open space, Queen Anne’s lace, reigning from her throne of white. Puffballs losing shape, their dandelion seeds parachuting off for new.   Just another summer day—to figure out what we might do. She was ten, a grade above, and I...