a baby smiled at me in our coffee shop a kind, happy woman handed me a hot dog sample at costco and I made chicken corn and black bean soup for friends who gathered to talk about what would make a difference in our town: street lights, sidewalks in an hour and a half we…
cynic critic thoughtful friend wide-eyed worn-out on the mend wondering wishing just the facts prophet listener off the tracks hungry angry coffee spoons lover laugher set to tunes true believer last to know all together miles to go Peace, Milton
“the chairs no one sits in”:* as soon as I saw the lines, I thought, “I was going to write that poem” — once again, I’m reminded what’s new to me is not new most of my thoughts are about as original as sin perhaps it’s not about who got there first, but getting there:…
no matter what page we turn what ball drops or what calendar we follow when tomorrow dawns on us we will still hold the sorrow that slept here last night the hopes and fears of all last year might sit silently for a few hours while we dance and remember the promises we hoped to…
come . . . sit in the dark with me and tell the truth reach deep in the pockets of our souls for scraps of hope and wonder come . . . look up at the storms of firefly stars flinging their light our way lay back on the blanket of dead leaves and sleeping…
I saw Joy dressed as a postal worker tenaciously attempting to infect everyone in line up against Impatience in the form of a woman still in her workout clothes complete with jewelry and then I stood behind Clumsy or so she seemed — dressed in faux fur and fumbling at the self-serve machine I was…
I tried prose tonight but all I could do was drop a gravel load of anger in the middle of the page this is no time for stones I tried to be relevant but all I could do was take my best shot in the ranting wars in hopes of getting hits this is not…
I love telling stories. I also love repeating them — just ask Ginger. I do, however, come by it honestly: it’s a family trait. One of my favorite repeatables is one I have heard my brother tell many times and comes from his days living in Akron, Ohio. His barber there was a man who…
the rain has fallen all day like tears or whispers leaving outlines of parked cars and umbrellas the clouds cut the day short and darkness snuck in almost like an old friend who knows all the stories of promise and sadness and who knows how to sit next to you in silence ‘cause that’s what…
we are made of dust but I’m not so sure — our bones, perhaps but our spirits . . . our spirits are made of the stuff of sautéed garlic the hope of rising dough the laughter of bacon frying the tenacity of friendship every morsel of mortality a reminder to remember from love we…