Tag: poetry

• To my Aunt Cathy

  It was as we played king of the raft — bobbing the way it did, always half-swamped with the translucent green of the little lake, and all of us shouting, thrashing, sending the fish to the bottom, the sun shining our suits, our shoulders and necks matted with tangled hair, you watching from shore with…

  Jenifer

  September 13, 2014

  Aging, Childhood, Dying, Family, Memory, My family

  poetry

• My window at night, vi

  Dark light dark light dark light dark light aspen leaves flip and turn back and forth and around, soft sequins mirroring the six-sided moon, imperceptible, but just enough to slow time, open hazy wonder — dark light dark light dark light dark light dark light —

  Jenifer

  September 6, 2014

  Garden, Meditation, Muse, My window at night, Nature

  poetry

• 1108, college edition

  The Bustle in his Bedroom The Weekend after Drop-off Is loneliest of industries Enacted by the Mother — The Sweeping up of Bookshelves And putting Clothes away We shall not see used again Until Thanksgiving (nay! Christmas) — —————————————— One thousand pardons to Miss Dickinson, and to readers who are a little tired of my…

  Jenifer

  September 5, 2014

  Emily Dickinson, Family, Humor, Teenager

  poetry

• Top of the White Trail

  The first sense you have is of the isolation and how disorienting it feels to not see anyone, even a stranger.

  Jenifer

  August 29, 2014

  Aging, Childhood, Meditation, Memory, My family, Nature, Pentwater, Seasons

  poetry

• My window at night, v

  Is it time yet? As I study you, I think not. You have decided not to show yourself, and I can see no further into you. Let us wait together, and here and there take turns teasing, poking, putting on — and perhaps by accident reveal a surprise to us both. —————————- This is part…

  Jenifer

  August 27, 2014

  Meditation, Muse, My window at night, Nature

  poetry

• My window at night, iv

  Breathe air into my words. Give them spaciousness, room to roam and be flexed, to be held, warmed, to have fingers run across them, pausing, to know the sense of being swallowed bit by bit, or held on the tongue. Let them open up onto the prairie to play in all the adventure of the…

  Jenifer

  August 22, 2014

  Childhood, Garden, Meditation, Muse, My window at night, Nature

  poetry