the sea, unforgiving, voraceous,
looking always to pull beneath
her roiling skin all that which
tries to cut through

to give enough of her water
to sink them, giving her
time to nibble as gravity
does her part to bring all
unto the briny deep

fools who see only beauty
in sharp waves and high crests
do not understand what the sea is,
and how she hungers

in Winter, risk is amplified,
as cold waters so quickly
subdue the lives of those pulled in

and so the sea lanes were carefully plotted

ships would cross from point to point
on isocheimal charts–would seek a
warmer, calmer way–
but the sea, cheated of this prey,
her appetite grows, she growls,
she finds another way

after planning every detail
for eighteen months
her tears well up
the groom stands before her
strokes her bare arms
and soothes her upset away

#1

standing patiently

when you control our future

it’s the wisest choice

#2

flowers continue

blooming in the chilly days

when we are absent

#3

dressed respectably

we remind ourselves today

fear is not the path

#4

we packed what we need

no hatred in our baggage

it has no purpose

(after the 1942 photograph, “Members of the Mochida family awaiting a bus to be transported to an internment camp,” by Dorothea Lange)

The worn spine sighs as I crack it open, a familiar scent of possibility clinging to the pages. But this time, a different kind of anticipation thrums – a search for a reflection in the ink. I flip through, past tales both grand and ordinary, yearning for a story that whispers back, “Yes, that’s me.”

Ah, a flicker. A character’s hesitation, a yearning that mirrors the questions swirling in my own mind. A love story blooming outside the lines, defying expectations. Here, on the page, a world where chosen families stand strong, and identities exist in a spectrum of colors.

This book, a sanctuary. Words weave a tapestry of experiences both familiar and foreign, a validation of the complexities I hold within. A bittersweet joy washes over me – recognition tinged with the ache of stories untold for so long.

But with each page, the echo grows stronger. I am not alone. Others have walked these paths, loved and fought, found joy and courage. The fire within me, once flickering, now burns brighter. This story, a mirror reflecting a truth I always knew but never dared to fully embrace.

The book closes, a promise held between its covers. The world outside may not always understand, but here, within these pages, I am seen. And that, in itself, becomes a story waiting to be written.

a robin rests on the rain-wet phone line
his warbling enlaces A Love Supreme

bursts, staccato runs amidst the choruses
ignores the changes, but blows on point

beyond the dripping canopy, Charlie smiles

You never stop by except to ask for money. Is this your disease behavior? Yes, I say to myself. Don’t take it personally. Now, that I’ve told you to do it your way, but don’t ask me for money, I wait for    Hi, I’m okay    messages.  The cat left. She kept staring through the glass door waiting for food. I’m out. She’s a neighborhood stray.  Comes to eat then leaves. She eventually left last night not to be seen since.

Sent you an email
letting you know I went to
my first Al-Anon

Saplings at the cinema
Watching the horror film,
“The Monster that Ate the South,”
Scream at the terror.

They see great green ghosts,
Multiplying out of control,
Covering trees large and small
Unstoppable as Godzilla.

Herbicides, mowers, bushhogs
Useless against them.
They haunt the Interstates of Alabama
Mile after mile
Of chlorophyllic ectoplasm
Looming on the sides
Of the highway.

“Import them: they’re beautiful,” people said.
“Good for fighting erosion,” they said.
Beautiful in spring,
But winter shows their true character.
Skeletal and ugly.

As harmless to humans as Casper.
But to the trees
Deadly as any ghoul,
Suffocating them
More slowly, more patiently
Than any movie villain.  

Sharp tart smell of skunk
Overtakes the evening air
Hope it spares my dog

Today is the very last minute
of the last hour of the last day.  

No matter what you’re doing,
we’re coming to fetch you.  

Wait on the platform.
Make sure your suitcase is empty.  

an iron-on lemniscate