Somehow love from the past can fully exist in the present— in parallel to the book on the shelf that has survived a number of household liquidations for the annual neighborhood garage sale. It was given to you years ago as a reminder of a certain day— its thin green spine stands up straight, pinned between “ExploringContinue reading “Somehow”


You wonder sometimes how you make it this far into the day after the rejection letters arrive in your mailbox because the New Yorker didn’t want your poetry, and neither did the American Poetry Review— and it feels as if rejection is your life sentence because you could paper a cell with these envelopes— heck,Continue reading “Submission”

Lunch with my Parents

We greet with hugs and kisses and smiles even though it’s only been a week since we dined together at another restaurant in another part of town. I dress for the occasion in something like church clothes because that’s what you do when your parents are rich— and they want to make sure everyone knowsContinue reading “Lunch with my Parents”


Poetry is not your thing the way music is your thing— and it doesn’t seem as exciting as the symphony or the flexible pink lady who dances into the naked arms of the young man onstage, whose body resembles a slingshot as he lifts her into flight. Poetry isn’t my thing, you say to yourselfContinue reading “Song”

Independence Day

Independence Day, 2015  Even though the lawn needs mowed I’ll stay in the house until evening because there are things to celebrate indoors, like air conditioning and running water and the kind of freedom that allows me to choose what book to read and what kind of flag to criticize on social media if IContinue reading “Independence Day”