Storm Season

Beaten sturdy little sloop

Weathered vessel body

Solid planks and braided ropes

Frayed a little salt rubbed

Storm hewn etchings

Aging her ribcage hull

Sighing tides expand contract

Siren songs of seasons past

Not so distant harbored that

The melancholy doesn’t call

When Summer sails to Fall

– September 13, 2017


Salt and Dragons

Weekly I drive the raised highway

past the city where salt peaks

lie like Western mountains of grit

along Baltimore harbor old and infused

with spoiled evidence of a town’s history

recently spit-shined to make anew

Mountains like week old snow

admired pristine then sooted and smeared

I like my treasures tarnished

rust where hinges were bent

and I don’t want any polish

for old carved runes in journals

bound by locks that take a little smashing

One day we’ll get tired and maybe

you won’t bend under my furrowed brow

and I won’t break under yours

We’ll churn now and then

bubble like discarded Chesapeake foam

that collects in dock corners offensive

to visitors who look past pointing

paddling fast and traveling slow

colorful dragon little boaties

But your beast rose from the stone

of this town and mine rolled in with the fog

Unharnessed and prehistoric

– August 14, 2017

Found Pieces

Broken pencils and found pieces
of water balloons blue
I weeded and you mowed
the lawn we trippingly traipse through
nights soft smoke and fairy lights
stones crumble from the fire
pit dusk moves and we still sit
fingernail moon climbs higher
I breathe the bees and fireflies’
soft song and show that’s owed
for stolen years from me and you
here grinning crinkled creases

⁃ June 27, 2017


I dreamed that we careened
over the edge to mortal prayers
when you didn’t listen to me then
or ever about the ending road

We spiraled into the valley
buckled in waiting for a crash
that didn’t come instead a slowing
skid into a new scene and I spit
out all my stifled rage at you
who shrugged like always
in your tunnel vision blurred

I howled my last plea
for consideration of me
and then woke up

You someone else’s anchor
and me hugged like a little sail
by breeze and his strong spine

– June 25, 2017


You built me a little dream
from wooden pins and wire
Here in my corner 
faith grows like snow peas 
Mist turned to drizzle 
this morning suddenly
You said you like seeing
our clothes intermingle
On the line still damp 
as I pulled them in 
Back out tonight when the air dries
and I don’t mind
I smell the breeze on your cotton
later to smell like you 
I will wrap myself in it
a little present from me
Spinner of gossamer wishes
to you builder of dreams

– June 7, 2017

On Being Woman

Here come the hooves
where I laid me down
that’s fine, that’s fine
I like laying in the grass
push me down deeper
leave me the grooves

Here comes the plow
to break through the earth
sow then, sow then
plant your crop deep
seedlings for feeding
scorched soil will allow

Here comes black sky
heavyset with rain
come clouds, come clouds
drench colors to gray
no trees here for shelter
little bird will just fly

Here come the beaks
and talons for my hair
take it, take it
from me build your nest
bald head like an eagle
glare white and sleek

Here come the waves
moon permitted flow
crash here, crash here
these jetties I built
now will hold fast
when it ebbs I’ll find space

– June 13, 2017


At my house
through the concrete cracks
Susan with her black eye
proliferates and takes up space
toes pushed through tiny fissures
she stretches her legs
says here I am and see
what I made in this earth beneath…
Battered? No, not me.

-May 30, 2017






The day that God gave shape to the Earth
she bent her spine and broke through her skin
out of bones and tissue that carried within
beauty and rage long borne now birthed
galaxies howling settled into their spin

Atmosphere tears cloud billowing breath
when she declared “fuck it” and burst
shattered shard constellations dispersed
coaxed living vertebral planets from death
to maternal milky way yielding their thirst

He said “I think that you are pure light” to me
sweat garden dirt smeared on the pristine
some Lux Aeterna enough Comptine
d’un autre ete l’apres-midi
sound of his seeing and my being seen

– May 15, 2017

A Buzz

There is a buzz, humming in my veins
a tune I haven’t heard before
but I like it

My cats killed a female cardinal
its little orange beak so perfect
still in death
I mourned it as I swept up the feathers
I will get the hunters bells

A little fish just drew circles
on the pond framed by yellow lilies
and Spring’s young green here
off the path like when I wandered
through the deer park in Baarn
that day the ivy came up to my little shins
and I pretended to be lost

Two geese just landed and I looked up
at their sound to see three deer
unbothered by me even though
my heel left a divot in the moss
like when my little legs left
a trail through the ivy in Baarn
off the path where I am most comfortable
and I guess try to leave a subtle mark

– May 9, 2017


You were there when my young wisteria set its first bloom and laughed at me for my sheer excitement, called me a princess like you always did when I made a big deal over flowers. First the magnolias and narcissus at the art museum when spring was soft and melty, then the petals that rained on us at the hospital that day when we were still making plans, and one petal landed on the edge of my coffeecup. Then the summer when my home was home, so comfortable, too comfortable for you, when the irises gave way and the pergola shaded struggle.

This year the pergola is draped in white wisteria blossoms and a heavenly scent, and I will never not think of you in a petal storm. You are so loved. So loved.

– April 27, 2017