Month: January 2019

We were fans back when /
her music sang from cassettes /
worn thin by our love. /

Weak flesh coerced by dogs /
into the cold day. Inhale. /
Suddenly grateful. /

Horizon deep red /
bleached to a shallow pink when /
seen through a phone’s lens

Sand deepens my steps /
As dusk’s eyelids close softly /
Obscuring footprints

Envy the dog’s rest, /
sprawled, limp with abandon, flat /
across my hearth rug /

Cracked empty acorns  /
crunch. Twig crackle punctuates. /
Walking under oaks.

Planks of scrap wood span /
boot-printed slick mud. /
I hop to the door. /

News of your son’s death /
grips me with how much time’s passed /
since we daily talked /

Damp, sullen, firewood, /
smoldering, rebukes the flame /
though coaxed with kindling /

The door resists as /
I venture out to get wood. /
The cold pushes back

We paused at the bridge. /
The brook, storm drunk, careened by /
jostling its banks

and

Twisted blueberry /
swathed in lichen’s pale glow and /
memories of fruit

Plonk, plunk, ka-plonk. Tossed, /
they thwak, tumble, settle, /
growing my wood pile.

Whisper snow rattles /
pressing low the chimney smoke /
to spice its soft kiss

A skeletal woods /
reveal the island’s contours: /
dimples, hills and stones

Wrinkled skin apple /
Tough to bite, but sweet inside /
Mouth full of flavor

A new log splitter /
All assembled and ready! /
Push start. Nothing runs.

I poked my own eye /
while putting on my glasses. /
It was the left one.

The clock pulls my gaze. /
Again. Again. Is it still /
too early for bed? /

The vacuum rumbles /
The dogs bark and dart and nip /
Fighting their dragon /

Holding breath, I stand /
To witness you chainsawing /
Until the tree falls

Winter’s long shadows /
Crisscrossing the sun’s cold gaze /
Warming with pattern /

When far daughter calls /
For website help and to chat /
My heart grows larger /

A sharp sickle moon, /
Each step, flirts through dark branches /
Cold stars pinned above /

Hurrah! Postman, Jack!

With a twinkle and chatter

You brighten the day

Lousy day wiped away
By a night of live music
Chilmark Potluck Jam

Driving to Cronigs
Phone on lap – Ping! Ping! Ping!
Trying not to look