Learning from Asiatic Lily There can be no lotus flower without the mud. —Thich Nhat Hanh As red lick of sunrise brightens the airyou stand near sheets of greenerypause beside pillows of hosta / mosswitness / where love lands to kiss lilium lips. Slick with dew / petals glowas tongued bowls greet waspanswer beetle / […]Read more "Learning from Asiatic Lily"
Morning It was a morning like other morningsand yet perfect among mornings —John Steinbeck On the street behind barrierssquealing kids follow mum and dad along the boardwalk joggers jostle walkersamong handholding couples. Shore spume sprints to the tideline.Sand shifts and settles unhindered by human feet and towels,stabs of coloured umbrellas unimpeded by lolly litter and […]Read more "Morning"
Thanksgiving in Hometowns For thrum of yellow through sycamoresand slant of sunlight through milk jug’s rounded edges. For gold-ignited summerand star-spangled boneweed on the road. For the scarecrow in my mindthat calls me back a million times. The November sky is a freshly-pressed shirt.Leaves start unfastening from their branches. Kate Wylie is a softball coach and […]Read more "Thanksgiving in Hometowns"
Pig Farm Nine years ago swine flu kissed the farm,Obliging Virginia Hambone to stand firmAgainst the public use of mucky troughsWhich was causing the trots and coughs. Pigs were ordered to remain in their stiesAnd baptize their trotters to avert demise.Sty-to-sty sales sows solicited salty swill.A barn was set for the expired and the ill. […]Read more "Pig Farm"
not even the rain has such small hands Smokestacks of oak, hickory and birchlurch in the balance of sleet and snowon a confused Sunday in early Mayas my woods fill up with snow.It’s a snowy eveningtucked away on this Highland Park cul de sachugging Lake Michigan’s shoreas the gales of this Spring dayrecall the final […]Read more "not even the rain has such small hands"
My Pumpkin Pie Recipe Magicians don’t conjure up traditions,obsessionals do. That’s how my piesbegan to end every Thanksgiving dinner. Only my daughter knows that the doses of spicesand sweet milk came years agofrom the paper wrap on a can. The singing ingredient (two parts aria)is for the pumpkins, the gratitude momentwhen the seeds go in,the months cajoling vinesup […]Read more "My Pumpkin Pie Recipe"
Annie Dillard’s Weasel contemplates the umwelt of John Lennon.Having seized its last muskratthe weasel rides to heavenon a trail of half-eaten flesh and bones.Once arrived, its esteem for wildness fadesand its true nature is revealed.It wakes from an aphantasic nightmarebaser instincts melt away,the tacit animal-self vanishes.No longer does it graspat the necessities of the species.It […]Read more "Annie Dillard’s Weasel"
For a moment in the calm,between gusts of wind:the faint push of air beneath wing.The northern harrier drifts abovea flowering field of yellow mustard. Bobbing among the eddies,the murre learn centuriesof the waterwork and currents,driven unthinking by whatwe cannot know. Farther still, the north horizonis choked with fog;the clover lies trampled by salt windalong the […]Read more "North"
Muskrat She walks past the pond, up the road,toward illuminated shape—sunshineorbits its body, an auburn luster. Behind oak, near maple, she cloaksits remains with autumn’s leavings,honors its life. At bedtime, she smooths her grandmother’scoat, the mink repurposed into coverlet.Its plushness weeps with needless death. Animals have covered us long enough. Jeannie E. Roberts has authored four […]Read more "Muskrat"
Little Town Money almost enough.Sanity but not quite.Mellow mostly.Bowel movements plentiful.Hunger at times.Pain where expected.Growls and groans,grins and laughter,in proportion.Lambs and lions,about 50-50.Much more copperthan gold.Sex and sickness.Holiness and one barber’s pole.Hardware store.Movie house.Tractors – second hand.But much machineryin general.More than booksand places for a band to play.Scant art.Little style.A lot of unmarried virgins.A few […]Read more "Little Town"