They quarreled in a car with full-blast air conditioning. About money – how to or how not to spend it and back-history long enough they each knew the other’s extravagances, commitments (or lack of them) to security. At a green light, a vagrant in layers of clothes, (more than necessary for a hot August evening), […]Read more "Frozen Silence"
I want to see a star from a high place, not necessarily a mountain. Maybe a tree limb. To sit quietly, no kicking my leg or swaying my body like I have a baby in my arms. That baby is grown up and learning to fly fish thousands of miles away on a lake where […]Read more "My Impatience is like a fish"
Oh, if I wanted one perfect roundness to fit my hand as sweetly as an egg, it’s you, avocado. Lob your dark green skin north for salsa and fresh-squeezed limes. Soothe my tongue ravaged by sharp-toothed words, conform to my teeth, invite my tongue to roll in bland oil of green. Teach me timing. You […]Read more "Ode to the Avocado"
A spring morning much like others, some daffodils rain-beaten, some perked. Daphne’s lemony fragrance when near enough. The outdoor little library bookcase at the neighbor’s frames the same mythologies, travel guides, and who-dun-its that got us through winter’s downpours. At the abandoned school, morning changes. A man rakes the baseball diamond, listening on earphones that […]Read more "Kindling"
An Uncommon Prayer for the Farm after Brian Doyle This morning three cracked and cleaned-out ducks eggs rested in mud. The ducks ignore the coop they share with broody hens. A raccoon slinked through the night, egg eater who slipped under the guard dog’s radar. First petition: safety. Yellow jackets nest in the propane tank […]Read more "An Uncommon Prayer for the Farm"
You did not eat dirt today. Perhaps tomorrow. Victory is one thin nacre coat on one grain of effort. Remember the mare’s beauty. She sweat more than you did. Look ahead to kittens and dogs and the feasts of wild crows. These too know dirt that you will eat. All living taste dusty race tracks […]Read more "Poem to Myself After Winning the Horse Race at Age Eleven"
Author statement: Poet Tricia Knoll is looking forward to marching in Washington with her sister-in-law, her sisters, all of our daughters and their sister-in-laws and friends. Sixteen of us in pink pussy hats and carrying signs. Website: triciaknoll.com Inauguration and the Women’s March To Follow Apprentices choreograph an oath on a white leather bible, cherry-picked […]Read more "Inauguration and the Women’s March To Follow"
Bests. Worsts. Most Deplorable. Extinctions. Revenant Appearances. Dead Writers. Dead Actors. The Heart Broken. Ten Angels. Superimposed a grocery list on scratch paper scribbles prawns, bubbly drinks, Cascadia blue cheese, rice crackers, ground coffee and chocolate-covered cherries. You add caramels. Unwritten, days the pumpkins swelled. Again we had too many green beans, a little terrier […]Read more "End of Year Lists – 2016"
Frost pastes a mosaic of downed old leaves rimmed in rime. Like teacup dregs and tarot cards splayed on sugared tables, readings of left behinds, these patchworks pinch in icy grout. Leafy feathers fly, wings wish, ash fires and golden glooms to muted stars and folded moons, fans of ginko grace, sweet-gummed prickles, silver bristles […]Read more "Winter Mosaic"
Poet’s note: My last entry on Visitant was “How to Swear,” a prose poem that ended with the hint of moving in another direction to blessing. On this Thanksgiving, “How to Bless.” How to Bless In Old English etymology, the word blessing began with sprinkling blood on a pagan altar—a hint of messy demands. The heart […]Read more "How to Bless"