Every morning at eight We braved bees upon yellow flowers, Learning soon that bees don’t sting when distracted by need. But our need was as great: money to spend, to be frivolous for once. We two kids would make a thousand bucks—or maybe just a hundred each So we’d know the thrill of plenty just for …
Dear John was published in Out Loud: A Year in Review 2017. Dear John, I never could imagine That we were meant to be: Your dark humor and your anger Were a little much for me. Though you always spoke Of giving peace a chance I suspect your sweetness Would surrender to your rants. Yes, you …
Like a creeping ivy I caress your dreaming face, You think I am your mother’s touch And you smile at her embrace. But then you realize That it is only I So you pull the covers up To hide. She is gone And I am here, You are where I thrive, I spread my vines within …
At her birthday party They expected all to dance The music played, the lights grew dim The young girls looked entranced. There they stood with faces flushed Enchantment somewhat marred, While Sam and all the other boys, Did cartwheels in the yard.
A death in December Is the ruination of an entire year Of tiny triumphs and celebrations Of birthdays, and Saturdays, and of Sunlight streaming across a breakfast table. No one tells you that it will take years To recall beloved off-key carols Sung with bellowing joy Or a hand leading you into the shivery night To …