When I was born, we lived here,
in Van Hornesville and your Grandpa
taught at the Owen D. Young School.

That’s the house right there, two
stories, right across from the school,
your grandmother would hang clothes
on a clothes line right over there.  

Cooperstown is where I was delivered 
right behind the Baseball Hall of Fame.
I was nine or ten before I realized I
was actually born in a hospital, not
in the Hall of Fame parking lot. 

The storm the night of August 4th,
all those years ago, caused a black out
at the Imogene Bassett Hospital so
I was delivered by lantern light
on my Daddy’s thirty second birthday. 

I remember pieces, parts told by so
many voices , aunts and cousins,
parents and siblings, so that my own 
memories are an amalgamation of
a collective experience in which
I have been an active participant. 

6/21/25
KW

My vision withers in the Lowe’s garden center.
The apartment complex next door is wailing
with smoke detectors. I am flooded with red
panic, I am reeling into the tangle of mandevillas.
It is 90 degrees Fahrenheit and I feel volatile,
near syncope, memories strobing in the heat.
Hide my body in the soil bags, let me shut down.
The humidity is painted with sirens. Bury my head
like a flower bulb, the only peace is underground.
It will be silent there. None of these countless alarms.
I can burn without all the noise. I can sit like a rock,
legs crossed, stoic little dove, waving away the saviors.

My cousins once removed
or something like that–
they’re all just cousins to me–
are getting older. 
Their hands are shaky, 
their steps less secure, 
memories fading.
A cousin I remember
as robust and hardy
now looks delicate and fragile
only two years later. 
Once these cousins are gone, 
 I’m afraid the rest of us
will just slowly drift apart.

Love is kind
Love is true
I’m so happy I met you

Love is the feeling
I have with you
Our love is kind
Our love is true

summer lets the insects in, and the ones who graft to the hot aethered ceiling would select against death by cat jaw if they ever saw another bug

to mate.

if they ever left this place again.

when i lean to the sink, the mirror has my face but for a single

eye

which has been eclipsed by a fly of

unimpressive size.

approaching the end
your memory dissipates
like moss swallows mist

i want to win this
challenge so bad. i also
want to sleep. turmoil. 

one meal with loved ones
is worth a hundred tasty
 meals eaten alone

        Old Seventy Creek revisited

Too much to do 
Too few hours left
Too many people 
Too much work 
Too few days spent 
Too many miles away
Too much to be attending 
Too few minutes to spare
Too many more months 
Too much to choose from
Too few to let go of