To My Brother
You found a pinky in the woodpile,underneath some wet leaves.You brought it back to the house,hairless and blind, shivering.Satch said it wouldn’t survive an hour,without its mom, without its nest,but…
Category: Childhood
And Boys Play Savage in the Suburbs
We were friends once,before we sharpened scrapsfrom unfinished homesat the dead end of Cypress. We eyed ‘em true, those moldings,those sharp stones dug from the creekbed,those wires, thin and strong,each…
Once the Pagans of Patapsco Wood
We laid snake bone by the rootsof the four trees fused at the waist. We dug tourmaline in the creekbed,dry that time of year and every yearbetween honeysuckle loam and…
Sweet and Bitter Greens 