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Poetry
Braiding His Hair
Here we are each morning: / my husband on our old kitchen chair, its upholstery / while I comb out his long / wheat-colored hair.
October 2020In The Days Wherein He Looked On Me
Thursday, sad wet morning, / reading the Gospels on my way to work. / I’d been doing that all year: waiting for the bus / on the front stoop’s top step, / making my way to the same back seat
September 2020Musings
A stink bug perches on the bristles of my toothbrush. I know more about ventilators than I should. This morning’s coffee tastes luxuriously of earth. As I run through the forest, pileated woodpeckers hammer and cackle from above. I’ve got an ache in the ball of my foot. Some things never give up.
September 2020Mothers Of All Pandemics
we call our moms they’re in their / nineties now some don’t remember / many do we are worried sons of mothers / mugged by some motherfucker of a germ / going back to the days when our mothers’ mothers / were alive during the pandemic of 1918
August 2020Crazy Bitch
God, it feels good to be a crazy bitch. / To stand straddle-legged in a slip dress and stilettos / lashing out recriminations, nonsensical accusations / that leave his mouth agape. To stop being understanding, / reasonable. To rage with the heat of a thousand tigers in your heart.
July 2020The Hairdresser
sees the old woman — wheelchair bound, pushed by her daughter — glance / out the window, and goes in back / to fetch a shower cap. The woman tugs her daughter’s shirt and says, almost / inaudibly, It’s raining. / And it is raining. Barely.
July 2020
Selected Poems
— from “Wanting Not Wanting” | I wish I didn’t / want things / to be other / than they are
June 2020Thirteen Ways Of Looking At Life Before The Virus
I. / I remember shaking hands: / damp sweaty hands and dry scratchy hands, / bone-crushing handshakes and dead-fish handshakes, / two-handed handshakes, my hand sandwiched / between a pair of big beefy palms.
June 2020
Two Weeks After A Silent Retreat
How quickly I lose my love / of all things. I nearly flick an ant / off the cliff of an armchair.
May 2020
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