Time tends to create an opaque membrane,with more limited optical clarity, behind the lenses of eyes that automatically adjust for distant targets,when someone, who is very fond of blue,comes near.It draws the taupe veneer of historyover the windows of the heart,goading light from the front of the house—What if I could shine from inside out?—to… Continue reading Someday This Will All Be Gone
Never is honey as rawas its origin flower, at the moment of dehiscence,giving in to the releaseof seeds, pollen, and the quiet that comes after —the spontaneous openingalong a single crackof built-in weakness,where the wound fails to heal. Mark how the wisteria behaves,dripping from a ceilingin the 1900 blockof NE Schuyler Street;how its winglike petals… Continue reading The Raw Touch
What makes a favorite number is enigmatic. The answer to how many blades of grasswhistled between my thumbs on that hazy summer afternoon, bored to death, but still sweatingonly childhood — how many didn't?The rhythm of counting clovers by color white, white, red, blistering red not minding the stinger,on the instep of my index finger,… Continue reading 4
The best human solution to the problem of grief over a lost sense of being outdoors,combined with fear of being found outis the Juliet balcony, a slight protrusion towardsStep 1: Admit powerlessness. Forecasters say heavy rains, pushing east-southeast,could knock it out on Monday morning,and what’s worse, lift my seedlings from their pots,and plant them into… Continue reading Juliet Balcony
the memory of the pansy, bold faced, persisting through whiplash weather.March 14: snow.March 15: storm of pollen over the mountains,across the flats,down into the valleys — everywhere,everything,flourishingall at once.It was my first hay fever,I think, but it is hard to think back.So much happens each day.