The grim reaper came creeping at my door
to take a life that wasn’t born.
His lantern dim, his footsteps slow,
as winter winds began to blow.

He would not meet my pleading eyes,
but watched the moon consume the skies.
“I have no wish,” he softly said,
“To count this child among the dead.”

I held the cradle in my breast,
a place no infant yet has blessed.
The room grew cold, the candles bent,
and through the dark his shadow went.

I woke before dawn could break,
my empty hands began to shake.
Never had a child lived in my womb.
Is this a sign of my future approaching doom?

Woman, carnage-red breath pancaked between wrong whisperings, breathes blue ache.

Sometimes in the middle 
Of an ordinary day 
You’ll find yourself 
Meeting extraordinary people 
Who will serendipitously 
Turn your whole world upside 
All because you tripped and fell 
Going up a set of stairs on a campus
There should have been a caution sign 
There indeed wasn’t one at all 
On this day who was to know
That fall would cause the split 
In both knees of your favorite jeans
Causing blood to and tears and laughter 
To spill out into a university hallway 
Where you would end up meeting 
Your best friend who had come from 
A half a world away, Sweden 
Just to hand you some paper towels 
With a smile and kind words 
And continue to save you through
all of life’s challenges and bullshit
For the rest the rest of your adulthoods
Who knew she was the girl best friend 
Who liked horses, you’d been wishing for 
All those years ago during your youth 
As you raced through your uncle’s pastures. 
Nevertheless, the universe does hear us,
Sometimes. 

Sweating through June,

only one relief blows in

around the same time that

summer storms pound sideways

against the windows

and blow the air out of our lungs.

When there are more streams of water

than grasses in the yard

or pebbles in the path,

the urge to open the back kitchen door

and let the mountains leak in, too,

overwhelms any sense 

of indoor and outdoor spaces.

Rushing water stills the clock

of the rest of the world

even if only during

the duration of the disturbance itself.

Once the squall subsides

with the full length of its shadows

back to the creases between hills,

the mountains also retreat,

back across the tiles and reweathered wood

of the backyard deck,

back to the hidden places 

where cloudbursts loosen 

the wildnesses we are too busy to liberate

except when we are moored

by our own houses

in a storm.

his astonishment at the blue spruce
mine at the gourd hanging high from its vine
pallisades in sleep deprived guise
eagle in profile or gargoyle guardian gas station 
attendant 3 am how then we spend our days
but in the cool shade no bitter lemon rind the sun

Ticking down the minutes
until you’re next to me
but for now we’ll share
a simple melody.

I keep hoping for a miracle.

A lottery win big enough to buy a new life.

My side hustle blowing up.

A change in my mother’s heart.

I’ve had dreams about it,

felt it near enough to touch.

False hope reigns supreme.

I keep hoping for a miracle.

Would I trust it if it came?

It’s fine
was her standard reply
she now questions why
It’s fine
the first thing she says
in her head the frustrations swirl
as the insults were hurled her way
It’s fine
just walk away and don’t ruffle any feathers
don’t ruin the day
It’s fine 
yet it is not 
a childhood lesson used for survival
doesn’t serve the woman she’s become
It;s fine 
time for bed and put away the dread of all the words left unsaid
to keep the status quo
so instead her standard reply
It’s fine she reply’s one more time
tommorrow is a new day and hopefully
It’s fine will be forever left behind instead

Laid low for three weeks,
nothing coming in the way of words,
barely able to hydrate:
some flu caught in a roomful
of hacking attendees
at the lecture Common Birds of Tampa Bay.
 
I could make the joke
that the common bird flew,
but with the ache in my bones
it would hurt to laugh

No matter
that my kith and kin
are scattered hither and yon,
today I’m able enough to write
so time will never fly by as quick:

clocks seem to have flown up
an hour
all on their own

Hearing my friend Judy’s maniacal laughter at Hartsfield Airport when she discovered
the bright red lip liner on her eyebrows — applied in the fog of a 5 a.m. rising 

Reading a father’s memorial column to his deceased son, the son who favored a basset
among family pets because you can wipe away your tears with his ears 

Seeing journalist Jamie and her young daughter as they exited Kroger’s,
each with a small tote of groceries — woman and her copy in miniature

Learning to appreciate the distinctive perfumes of tree barks from Stan,
professional pollen harvester, while hiking remote forests in northern California

Experiencing a surge of patriotism toward this land, this America,
on a frigid sunrise walk between the Capitol and Supreme Court