“The stuff of the world is knit—out of chaos in the first place”—Cleveland Wall, “Tiny Letters” Here it is, the week before Thanksgiving in the…
Little bird,your heart beats fastagainst the glassof the closed windowinside my porch.Hold still.My warm handswrap around you.I turn,take one step, two.In the open doorway,I slowly…
Only when sweat spatters the thin blonde tips, can I spot it— …
It used to be the afterthoughtat the end of a letterthat final smirk of wit, that wistfultraveler meandering late to the fair. That was when…
Like the last dayI would see you. Smiling— Wheels skidding on iceas I push you from parking lot to in-patient. Your handsuddenly becomes a child’s…
I dance the Tennessee Waltzwith Charlie,Old Charlie Blue Eyesin his thick tan sneakers.I hold him under the armsas we waltz, stiffly,two paces from his wheelchair.His…
I wrote them on adding-machine paper with ballpoint pen. I was always at it.Even before the reply to the last had comeI was crafting the…
That frigid Saturday midnightmy mother’s car rolledout of the garageafter me because I failedto park four wheelson the plane of cementthen compounded my errorby leaving…
We didn’t know what that meant – the future. Every time you said that word, we thought of rocket ships and flying cars. Living on…
He wanted a nighttime funeral. We thought he was joking. Connor didn’t have a will. He wasn’t the sort to plan ahead. His days were…
You were peaked well before Millinocket, and I shouldn’t have missed the signs. But in truth, I didn’t miss them after all, but ignored. I…
I sympathizewith the dining room table.The one that’s too big for the space it occupies.You have always taken care of itbecause you use it everyday,but…
—there was no release no parade …