Saturday, April 22, 2017


For this spectacular poem
you thanked me,
(kindly, as more would be written)

then let me know
you would be going home
once more.

Your body’s failing strength
had left you
only the mind’s clarity
to come back to,

which you did,
offering its spaciousness
to others.
At the transfer station,
everyone loves you

and clings to you,
but you no longer cling to anything

while everything about you
points beyond

to the Mother's solstice
and her pairing of two cardinals.

In my turn, I see
first, the female:

swooping in at my window
under the porch roof,
hovering mid-flight.

Then the exchange:
its mate, melodious,

his red headthe color of ribbon
poking out

from inside the center
of the Christmas wreath,
not to be removed, not yet.

Spring snows fell,
and over the mountain
at Mad River Glen

I drove past skiers
and cars with out-of-state plates,

as if shaving my face
for the first time in a month.

for Kathy Eldergill


Monday, May 9, 2016


What’s in the head
with the library?
More than a corpse.
Words meander
over circuits of breath;
a shade moves
up, then down.
Are you naked?

Stepping out from the shower,
a ghost hitches up its scars.
Talk, damn you!
Once upon a time
our eyes closed
in the silence.

Monday, February 8, 2016


A rifle shot comes
from the direction of Main Street,
but the sounding doves outside
the bedroom aren’t startled,
and the noise of traffic
hasn’t stopped.

I should pull the window shade up,
let in the eye-riveting light,
call again for help
from one of the strangers
who moved in.
The darlings always keep busy.

They must be struggling
to make sense of the laundry
hung out to dry on the porch.
I will give the sheets names
for when it gets dark,
and give them a piece of my mind, too,
for their flirty bedevilment.

I’ve always known my husband
couldn’t be trusted.

Tuesday, January 5, 2016


            Let yourself go: mourn in the evening,
            with your curtains pulled open and your lights turned on;
Wail, from dusk to daybreak, straying across your neighbor’s yard.
Go into the hedgerow, safe for a blind bird’s sleep.

Relax!  The moon ladles clouds out of its halo,
and still there is time for your wounds to heal.
            Pray for the starved and cold departed.
            Plead for capable hands,
feeling for reversing the sun’s dementia.         
            Let yourself go; trust the gusting wind
            and the fright outside.