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Off The Map

Last fall, after two years of escalating entreaties by my girlfriend, I finally agreed to move from the city to the country. More precisely, from San Francisco to northern New Mexico, to a desert of lunar silences and nights so black that I rediscovered my childhood fear of the dark.

Family Reunions

A family graveyard, a redwood tree, a private language

After The Laying-On Of Hands For Jonathon, Dying Of Cancer

Ghostmother

I am a woman ruled by the moon — the dark side no less than the light. A lover of monochromatic landscapes and subtle gradations, I am haunted by the shadows at the edge of the dark. Yet I cannot verify that I’ve ever encountered a ghost.

Too Late

An absent mother, a misplaced lover, a selfish child

Glide Path

They had circled for fifteen minutes before heading into the airport from the east, over the Hudson, across the turnpike. They should have come in from the north or south.

Poet

I had come to Yellow Springs for the Antioch Writers Workshop, an annual event on the Antioch College campus. My college writing teacher and advisor, the poet Jud Jerome, was an integral part of the workshop.

It Starts With M

My grandmother regularly receives letters from my dead father. I’m on my way to see her now with one of them. Uncle Kirby wrote it. He writes them all.

The Lurch

He stands naked at the end of his dock. His body isn’t used to the cold anymore, and goose bumps rise on his sagging skin.

Waiting

For a parent to come home, for the funeral of a friend, for a lover to arrive