Category: Muse
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March 2017
Slowly, slowly life comes back. Hair-fine roots far below the surface muster a wiggle, a stretch, and stir for us the unseen process of life beginning again. But not every capillary wiggles and stretches. Some just as mysteriously have clogged themselves up (been clogged up?) and no longer bring life back, no longer are alive…
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To William Stafford
Upon opening The Way It Is after a week that convinces me that this dark marathon is much longer than I expected, even in my most hardened moments Wake up my soul, I ask, please. It lies sleeping somewhere under a pile of emails, Congressional edicts, cruel comprehensions, that I have been picking through all…
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Early morning on Lake Shore Drive
maze of brown at the center, trees empty of leaves, row after row stretching to scattered hazel edging the lake, its soft fog settled, tissue-papers, still, grey, jade mist, dull pearl, kingdom come
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Small endurances
Puddles of snow pool under shrubs – miniature glaciers for voles to cast through. Sparrows, geese, all as one gather round the warmth floating up from the subway grate. Frozen, withered leaves dangle under squirrel’s tiny pads stirring breath in the still air. Here, in a far corner of my heart a soft flutter —…
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Worth staying for
Dusts of snow edge the earth, uneven lines mark sun-warmed pavers. With under-parts protected, statuary gather new relief, dying grasses open in broad pompons, perennial stalks crisscross into heavy mounds of gold, pine tufts reach out in a first, mourning grace. All else hushes, runs for cover, but our small, neglected garden unfolds, yawns wide…
Poems from in between 