The Sky is Falling

When the Old Man fell,
it interrupted all scheduled programming,
including Britney’s tenth birthday party,
where I was one minute
feeling

to pin the tail on the donkey,
and the next listening
for the sound
of a pin
falling.

Falling
like ashes,
ashes from the sky
in Oregon.
Fifteen years later,
Read More

What Remains Vivid Now

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 —

Read More