Category Archives: poetry

C is for Canoe

Star   In a canoe at night my grown-up daughter takes the stern her J-stroke confident.   In the middle we rest our paddles. The quiet fills with crickets and the small lapping of waves.   We crane at the … Continue reading

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O!

O is for the 17th Earl of Oxford, the man who wrote the Shakespeare plays, also known as Edward de Vere. Vere is the Latin root for the word “truth,” a concept that gets much play in the sonnets, along … Continue reading

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Salem (revised)

My ancestor Sarah Cloyce crouched in her jail cell remembering her sisters. Rebecca. Hung. Mary. Drowned. She herself faced drowning and wondered how it was when Mary’s lungs filled with water the air squeezed out bubbles rising to the surface. … Continue reading

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Halloween

I wore a sheet wrapped around my fluffy baby blue parka the rain stuck the sheet to the parka and I was a wet ghost My hood up, white fur around my face mittens holding out a pillowcase remembering the … Continue reading

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Car

Walking the dog I circle back over the field behind the empty high school parking lot and wait to see my daughter drive for the first time A green Honda zooms in stops with a flourish in the corner of … Continue reading

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Sonnet

written in 1979, pre-email, pre-IM, pre-Skype I feel a grief profound within my bones To be from thee exil’d across the sea And separated thus by five time zones– If thou art gone, thy love’s no good to me. Alas, … Continue reading

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Baby

Cheek faintly sweaty against my neck top of head fitting under my chin just so heat rising from the feathery hair Drifting to sleep body against body softness melting into softness boundaries blurred The mind tries to work plan. Won’t … Continue reading

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Anniversary

Sometimes anniversaries are just another day The weather is the same but I can’t conjure up what I felt three years ago today when my father died I don’t know what I felt slammed relieved unburdened just very sad My … Continue reading

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Today

That perfect warm air that giddy feeling it happens every spring and you try to remember what it’s like Shoulders unhunch arms expand under just a t-shirt It isn’t hot yet You dimly remember or remember remembering some day before … Continue reading

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For Boston

My husband told me he has worked hard not to know what happened in Newtown. “You mean, six-year-olds?” “Yes. No. I know what happened. Don’t tell me any more.” I don’t blame him. I don’t blame myself for going on … Continue reading

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