Where the Work Comes From
Although this video from 2014 can be seen elsewhere on this site, I wanted to post it here, now, as I commit to writing more deeply, clearly, and joyfully in this new year.
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Humus
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Humus Let the spacebetween tree and “tree”be humus. Let the space between usfill with rootsthat are (not) mine. Let form come from this exactplace, be knit to this tree’s branchingas close as bark. Because nothing is another thingor a puppy of our thoughts but only thishappening here between us: let me grow a word for…
Myopia in the Afternoon
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Myopia in the Afternoon What landscape is this? My flesh curvingover your bones, pectoral swellunder my cheek, darkness of tangled fur,and beyond that, the wet angled branch of a tree, and beyond that,something white, something pale blue.Call it tree and window,sky and snow. But what this is, so close at hand, I cannot say.This landscape…
Fat Time
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Fat Time Under purest ultramarine the raisedgoblets of trees overrun with gold.We should be reeling drunk and portly as groundhogsthrough these windfalls of russet, citron, bronze, chartreuse. Everywhere color pools like butter, like oil of ripe nuts,like piles of oranges under a striped tent. Oh, let us be greedy of eyeball,pigs scuffling in this gorgeous…
Letting It Go
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Letting It Go I’m walking on my birthdayand this timeI’mletting it go. Headline!Waistline!Toe the line!Morning line! I’ve stopped stoppingat all the roads not taken(you know the ones I mean) because here’s the joke:every road is a dead end. So I’m just walking on my birthdayand letting it go. In my throat, regret.On my tongue, mourning……
Wise to Cinderella
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Wise to Cinderellafor Mary Brown At five, we liked the same stories,laughed at dissonance, were wise to Cinderella. We dressed in women’s clothes, tried them onfor size. No tulle or glass slippers,though we’d have gone for a spangle or twohad anything shiny been in the box. You were Puss-In-Boots: skirts hiked up,ready to swash buckles,…
The White Queen
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The White Queen Comes the White Queen worryingand hurrying to keep up and losingher hairpins. Mind pieces slipout of their sockets. Because it is all held togetherwith hairpins —the old kind, meant to be invisible? And they were invisible.I didn’t know they were there holding my mind togetheruntil I startedto lose it. Someone whose name…