Compassion Colors I figured this morning’s work would be blues writing. My friend’s son died the other night according to…
Today Would Have Been Our 50th Anniversary A mixed marriage. Clergy shuns us. The judge shushes us. I sentence you…
No Reason This morning for no reason at all joy wells up inside me, joy beams from my eyes and…
Mother Worship 1. We’ve come too far to turn back now. The blue camas shimmering like a pluvial lake. We…
It Was the Summer of Hard Tomatoes sucking into themselves like I shied inward when asked, How is your father? like…
Frijoles Negros I comb my sieve for pebbles. Set beans to soak. Ready cast-iron—in Cambridge, as in California. Listing winter…
Tomato Ghazal Every year we wait for the summer’s first tomato. We lived in little sunshine with a thirst for…
Interlude A morning gone resplendent in autumn lavish, when a strange still-scape appears in the parted grass: the long, oil-slick…
The Lookout I look up, in the black and white picture—my hair still cropped short, my mug floating atop a…