Posts for June 4, 2026 (page 4)

In the springtime of my life, I shall cry
Crawl, walk, and run, gravity I defy
Nourishment from my mother and father
Sapling budding new though lacking flower

In the summer of my life, I shall run
I’m living free and loud and bold and fun
A lover’s touch feels like a fantasy
Leaves vibrant green across my canopy

In the autumn of my life, I shall toil
Parent and mentor, the youth I enfoil
Tomes for mind’s embrace is my newfound fire
Leaves brandish orange, roots deep, trunk like a spire

In the winter of my life, I shall sigh
Keeping my loved ones close to say goodbye
What comes next even scholars do not know
Limbs bare, bark rough, leaves fallen down below

In life we grow, ebb and flow
Constantly we are shifting
Seasons undulate with tide
Forever we are drifting
There’s order to this chaos
Through the madness, look and see
Everything will recycle
Akin to the mighty tree

Springtime comes back round again
We’re growing everyday
We bud and bloom and blossom
New life we shall display

I know the world hasn’t ended
yet but people’s eyes are greyed
over. Necks scaffolded. 

And the whole country is a hill
that’s actually a glacier.
And I feel it rocking as molecules
shiver with warmth, calf
off with miniscule Cs 2 octaves
up. The seasons keep going
unsurely, like I don’t know if I can
do it, mommy, I’m scared.
Still there are red leaves and icicles.
Cloned lambs. Slaughterhouses.
Gemini overview. Dronestrikes.
And I’m still trying not to hear
my mother’s war-stricken voice
in my love’s mouth.

I have never needed to know
if I will live again. I want to worship 
this place. I am awake as
I can be in the second 
womb.
What a blessing.

All my childhood protagonists
had red hair, too. A princess
who saves everything by dousing
red eyes.

June is a kind month. Still there is June.

At the old hilltop college where the cold winds blew,
There taught a professor that nobody knew
Quite how to explain, quite how to define—
A man who seemed balanced by losing his mind.

Howie strode in mornings with papers askew,
A coffee-stained notebook and one mismatched shoe.
He’d lecture on Freud, then detour to crows,
Then somehow tie both to the shape of your nose.

“Reality’s fragile!” he’d suddenly cry,
While pointing a yardstick directly at the sky.
The freshmen would blink, the seniors would grin,
Because somehow by finals it all settled in.

He’d pace like a preacher, he’d rant like a bard,
He’d turn every classroom discussion up hard.
One minute statistics, the next minute fate,
Then twenty-five minutes on why pigeons wait.

The textbooks were useful, but not half as much
As watching old Howie go gloriously off-clutch.
He’d challenge assumptions and twist every rule,
A beautiful menace to orderly school.

Some called him eccentric, some called him bizarre,
A comet of chaos, a runaway star.
But under the thunder, the tangents, the smoke,
Was a teacher who cared for the minds he awoke.

Now the halls seem quieter, the classrooms less wild,
No professor arriving with the grin of a child.
No impossible stories, no philosophical spree,
No debates about consciousness sparked over tea.

And somewhere, we figure, beyond what we know,
He’s lecturing angels in heaven’s front row.
Explaining cognition to saints on a cloud,
Making the cherubim question out loud.

So here’s to Howie, delightfully strange,
Who taught us that learning requires some change.
A little bit wisdom, a little bit crazy—
The kind of professor whose memory stays easy.

For some leave behind books, and some leave behind fame,
But the best leave behind stories attached to their name.
And up on the mountain, through laughter and tears,
We’ll be telling the Howie tales for years and years.

“I hated my hair, and I hated my shirt.” – Jason Bredle, “Pinball City”  

I hated my glasses
and my eyes for needing them.
I hated the gap between my front teeth
—called a diastema—
and I hated my mind for making me
look that up. I hated being asked to sign
up for the app.
I hated being asked, “What’s a good name?”
before I could get my coffee,
which I didn’t hate at all.  

I hated hated hated
repeating my date of birth three times each time
I visited my rheumatologist.
I hated my demons
though I admired their work ethic
and my guardian angel
whose bathroom breaks
had become too long, too frequent.
I hated my manuscript
for not writing itself
while I sunbathed on my grungy hammock
for which I held no hatred whatsoever.  

I hated the noisy construction next door
and the indeterminate finale of The Sopranos.
I hated the tailgating trucker
and the slowpoke in the pink Prius,
not to mention my seat in the back
of the plane by the bathroom
and the flight attendant
whose legs stretching across the aisle
I did not hate at all.  

I hated my own jokes because
I’d heard them all before.
I hated the hiss of a snake
in my rusty voice
and I hated the calendar
filled with dreaded dates,
the first day of school and yet another
birthday, one giant step closer
to the grave, which I hated,
and how just looking at the calendar
made me hungry for cake,
which I definitely didn’t hate.
You’d have to be fucking deranged
to hate cake.

raw fledgeling vaulted
thorn guarded nest assaulted
cleft pear stump salted

shooters’ growth halted
big hairy humans faulted
crows’ ire defaulted

hard work exalted
habitat somersalted
Who the fuck planted these damn pear trees in the first place?

tickling my cheek
it moves threadlike

sinister appari-
tion, mouth flickering, 
its stalked eyes gleam
towards me
crawling.
hand placed on lever,

moment becomes months, i  
ebb here one glimpse longer.

monster crabs
approaching still,
claws and algal slime.
hanging over the world, 
isolation, desolation abominable:
north only darkness;
east, Dead Sea, stony beach, red sky

            Everything

            Everything that I will tell you
           happened within miles
            of where I am right now.
            In fact, there is a temple
            on this base that Abraham’s
            father worshipped in,
            and ruins of his home
            are still here.

            I have not had
            an opportunity yet
            to make my way up
            to the Ziggurat,
            but I am permitted 
            to go there alone.
            I have added links
            so you can see it.

Whispers of the dead reach my ears

Those insatiable in life are still hungry

I miss the touch of their hands, of tears

Shared over memories that bound us

Their echoes offer a fading palimpsest

As they withdraw, leaving only traces

Of a word said, a look that said more

The tinge of jasmine they loved

Time whirled around us as if it would

Last forever. It is not until they are

Gone and I am still here that I

Consider what comes next

Earth devours what remains as we

Sink into the great mystery, returning to

Where we come from within the glow

Of starlight as it passes into infinity

(After “Bloodland” by Brigids Grove)

My breath becomes lodged in my throat
Like the stale drag of a Marlboro cigarette
As I listen to the voice on the other end of the phone
911   What’s your emergency?
My mouth opens but the words are held hostage
911 What’s your emergency?  

I stare blankly at the phone     lips trembling       
My jaws unlock      words rush free
My body is trying to kill me  

Excuse me?
The dispatcher asks
As if trying to decipher a cryptic code  

I draw a deep breath before answering
Begging my nerves to keep silent  

My body and I have been in an abusive relationship for years
I was gutted like a fish      sliced open with a scalpel
Entrails removed     a damning tumor had taken residency in my liver  

My body is left with rotted umber marks
A jagged scar begins under my breasts   
Winds to my belly       like the volatile currents of a river 
Reshaping the landscape of my stomach  

In a calm tone that betrays what my body feels
The 911 operator says
I am dispatching the EMS and police to your address
Remain on the phone until they arrive
Tell me what is happening now     

I’m fighting fatigue
I’m fighting anxiety
I’m fighting mounting medical bills
I’m fighting the pretense that I am ok  

I see the units are pulling onto your street
They are now approaching your door
You may let them in and disconnect our call
Help is there