Friday, April 26, 2013

Weekly Worded


          It’s raining mud,
          and the wind refuses
          to let raindrops
          reach the ground. 

          Windows darken
          with the paste,
          then dry to a sepia lace
          draped across the glass.

          Sunset throbs
          like a bruise,
          but how beautiful
          this savage spring.

Friday, April 19, 2013

Weekly Worded

    Warming Up

The lilacs want to start over so badly 
they arrange themselves like notes 
along a musical staff, each twig 
a conductor’s baton, half notes 
to the foot, the full orchestra 
renewed, tuning up in the sunlight. 

Already the daffodils are burning
like votives along the sidewalks,
forsythia rising like an old 
gold faithful, a bluebird
incandescent as a pilot light 
nesting so close to the house.

Friday, April 12, 2013

Weekly Worded

    Ghost Breast
      (for Pam)

Touching on this lump
you discovered in your breast,

when you first found it
it must have felt like playing

the wrong note on a keyboard,
like putting your big toe

into an infant’s shoe.
Or maybe it flickered like

a film, your interest waning
with each new threat of violence,

blood and gore.
Could it have been like the taste

of milk gone sour, or a crumbling
arch reduced to rubble,

or a hand you once held
before tenderness moved away?

I know, it’s only you
who has the sense

to give up trying
to describe what it’s like,

this life without comparison.

Friday, April 5, 2013

Weekly Worded


A pot of tea steeping
on the marble sill, its steam
clouding the window.

Sunrise on the counter
like the yolk of a broken egg,
oh happy disaster of morning.

All is settled then, the man
still asleep, the woman
keeping this time for herself

beside the sink, thinking of every
beginning and ending she's known
before filling her cup.