Where my lips
the glass and
stir my pain.
a cry will
And what love
I know in me
sings no more.
Written from “Sonnet XLIII” by Edna St. Vincent Millay
No lives matter,
nothing together. Stop,
her mother, standing,
Written from “I Stop Writing the Poem” by Tess Gallagher.
We’ve been taught to live life
on defense, told to mistrust our sisters
and defer to our doubt. When things
go wrong, the fault is always,
Continue reading “Margins”
THE MIDDLE YEARS by Walter McDonald
These are the nights we dreamed of,
snow drifting over a cabin roof
in the mountains, enough stacked wood
and meat to last a week, alone at last
Continue reading “To my parents on their anniversary”
unattainable, dreamy, irksome
cuz I want to be asleep instead
but more sleep isn’t a goal
I don’t think, anyway
The bed’s been missing sheets for two days
she washed them, all right,
that at least got done
but then forgot to finish the job.
Continue reading “A certain week”
NPR droned on about Donald’s tweets,
while I searched in my laundry basket for something chic
and wished I could hug Meryl Streep
if only I had time to brush my teeth.
Continue reading “Monday”