The prompt for this poem came from Suleika Jaouad's Isolation Journal. The inspiration is a poem from Dean Young called Belief in Magic and I've stolen his first line for my title. A few weeks ago, as I was sitting in my living room/library, I happened to notice that a tiny dot of lamplight was … Continue reading Believe in Magic? How Could I Not?
Here's a fun, spring-time poem to finish up National Poetry Month. Think about the sky.It’s a new blue tableclothand a big hipped womanhas carelessly dribbledgobs of whipped creamall over it.There she has set downan orange bowl.Smell cinnamon and corianderas you scoopspicy carrotsand squash from the bowlto your mouth.Bite into a raw cucumberto cool the fiery … Continue reading How to Find the Muse
Because April is National Poetry Month, I've decided to share with you some ekphrastic poems I've written this past year. Ekphrastic poems are written about works of art, most often visual art like paintings and sculpture, but they may be about a performance piece like dancing, acting, or film. This poem reflects on a lovely … Continue reading Rivers, inspired by Georgia O’Keefe’s Chama River, Ghost Ranch 1937
In honor of National Poetry Month, I'm sharing some ekphrastic poetry I wrote this past year. Ekphrastic poems are written about works of art, most often visual art like paintings and sculpture, but they may be about a performance piece like dancing, acting, or film. This poem contemplates a painting by German Expressionist Franz Marc … Continue reading Franz Marc’s The Fox
Hey, it's April!--National Poetry Month--and I'd like to share with you some ekphrastic poems I wrote this past year. I encountered prompts to write ekphrastic poems in more than one lit journal and workshop. It seems ekphrastic poems are having a moment, I guess. You may be wondering what ekphrastic poems are. Ekphrastic poems are … Continue reading The Arrival of Spring in Normandy, 2020, after David Hockney
I am a dust mote, a speck, a barely perceptible particle, created, not from nothing, but from destruction— the breakdown of something large into something tiny— tattered leaves crushed blossoms mown grass sloughed-off human skin, hair, fur floating DNA memories dreams. I am seemingly insignificant I have no personal agency I go where I am … Continue reading Dust Mote
The Secret to Rubber-Soled Shoes The secret to rubber-soled shoes is that they are often imbued with the ghosts of deceased dogs, dogs who were loyal and eager to serve, dogs who want to cradle the foot of a beloved pack member protecting you from gravel-strewn trails and unyielding cement floors, dogs who want to … Continue reading The Secret to Rubber-Soled Shoes
I choose San Francisco because I miss ocean air. I’ve been sleep walking in a dusty valley but the air in San Francisco is cold and saline. When you walk through it without a hat or scarf it’s bracing. You feel alive. I choose 1967, imagining the Summer of Love, thinking I might land in … Continue reading When the Time Travel Agent Asks When and Where
I posted this poem just a few years ago. But I like it, so I'm going to finish April with it. Enjoy! St. Jude showed up at my door today with a little package tightly wrapped in pale blue paper, adorned with a large clump of curled white ribbon (he’d obviously had it wrapped at … Continue reading Goose Girl
A story poem I wrote a long time ago. #NationalPoetryMonth Love, Our Subject In the multitude of cells now stretching and dividing In my womb I carry the genetic memories of my grandmother, running from her mountain cabin in the snow when her husband confessed his infidelity. Her shoes were not good; the slush soaked … Continue reading Love, Our Subject
