Each leaf matures to its unique culmination of color and breaks from the branch like one memory after another piling around the tall, thin trunks   leaving their beauty scattered along the trail   behind us    

good morning to the gloves with the pom-poms that I haven’t seen since last winter good morning to the puffs of frosty breath under the sparkling stars during my early moonlit walk   good morning to the dance of glittering light that begins as the sun rises   awaken: cup of strong Irish tea awaken: birds with pure voices awaken: summer has passed   good morning to the cold sun good morning to the overgrown and uneven blades of grass, green swords sheathed with the first frost   this is not a day made for the dim office this is not a day to sit in the dentist’s chair not...

we are women now drinking tea on a sunny afternoon— mango ceylon or ginger mint? we each choose carefully, with taste and tasting in mind   the first decade of adulthood is behind us and so is the past for all the gifts of our college years, this was not one of them:   the resurrection of our lives from the ashes of who we thought we were   the sun moves across the windows, tracing the hours we do not bother to track the tea grows cold in the bottom of our cups   we share our new names, writer, woman, poet the treasure beginning to unbury itself   poetry flutters between our...

1.   My little sister turned 30.   We spent the whole day watching the rain through the wide windows.   Outside, the creek rose and rushed, a river of childhood memories.   Inside, it was the first time I saw her baby crawl, rushing forward into childhood.   The one who hates aging dreams. The one who doesn’t mind lives the dream.   2.   Grandfather C. bends forward more each time I see him. Today his beautiful white hair, clean and combed, rests like a tidied, empty nest above his beautiful, smooth face. His blue eyes are bright on this visit although there is less...

I cannot bear it – the tears, the pain, the weight of ruined lives crumbling under the strain of evil.   The earth grieves and groans with the blood that stains her soil, with the hate that shatters life; she toils to hold the dead.   The universe stands silent before the aching cries of earth that echo into space; of darkness, grief and hope that lies beneath the rubble.   A weeping God comes close; with bleeding hands he reaches down to comfort, love and heal. Oh, let not the walls of hate keep out the only hope that’s real.   Our mourning hearts must rise above the enemy’s dark...