Kennebecs and Tomatoes

Ah, that first year - when we still imaginedour sustenance - those first kennebecs,huge in the manure field, papered like birch,soft as creamed cheese. Dave’s mom planted there, but she was dead.He asked only a smidge of harvestfor the plot, new turned from blackand hereford compacted absence. And maybe he tasted his mother’s apron.Maybe he... Continue Reading →

The Crumpled Snow

The orange slim line of the chopper overheadMeans only one thing here - certainty.Certainty that northeast of where I standIs a near departure,Perhaps wedged behind a wheel.I will count the minutesAs I count thunders and strikes.I can do nothing else. For in the next thick hourIn the next thick breath,A mother may weep a son,A... Continue Reading →

Suits

I can smell my own pits,my night sweats,sucked up in my weekunwashed robe. I am disgusted. And yet, there,in the garment bags,lingered in your suits,your suits I brought homefrom your funeralin the sands so long far gone,remains these sameand bitter musks. And there, in the bags,the pastes of rose wallpapers,struggled up but aligned remain. And... Continue Reading →

I Will Not End My Grief

Could there be a requisite span of mourning - some sentence meted out by the dead to be thrown black out into a day without - wistfully walking away? I picked a stone on a path as I thought of you. I picked a stone for my pocket, and there, in my pocket is my... Continue Reading →

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