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The Baby’s Shop Like sleeping ghosts in an attic, every inch holds a hanger with t-shirts, little under slips, eyelet dresses, a tiny ruffled bonnet all the same size, and all  sheer, transparent. In the center of the store is a lace shawl, the kind used as a collar for important occasions. If you look… Continue reading A Poem for Saturday

I am living my live of everyone’s quiet desperation, and I glance over my shoulder. Ah, no one is noticing me here in their midst. I think I’ll indulge myself—for just a minute—in the unspeakable: looking into the abyss. I don’t know what yours looks like, but mine is better than Hawaii. It’s soft and… Continue reading A Word About Depression and Music

         Photo by Unknown Birds on a Willow These willow branches are old and twisted, yet they hang and sweep the ground        with so much ancient feeling, I had to put these four birds        in the picture so as not to break your heart completely. --Joe Salerno-- "Dream Paintings from the Heaven of Obscurity"

"the poem begins neither in words nor meanings but in the small cells haunting us                     in the stones"                      George Oppen       Dragon’s Blood (found poem) Red from the earth, the mineral Mercury Sulfide is known as Cinnabar. It can be translucent to transparent;… Continue reading “the poem begins . . .

A number of us from Madison (environs) are included in this great anthology of women over 60 and opinions on love in its various guises. Robin Chapman and Jeri McCormick are the editors and Mayapple Press is the publisher. The table of contents reads like a who's who of poets. Take a look at the… Continue reading Anthology Opportunity

In my breathy telephone voice I challenge you to remember me. I remind you of our teen passion, you say, Keep going. . .| I give you my first initial . . . you say, God, your voice is sexy. I play with you for a few minutes more, loved hearing you say I was… Continue reading 25th Class Reunion

A Slowly Beating Heart But if I were to have a lover he would be different. I've had a strong man--he didn't talk, sharpened things in the basement, moved walls, built additions. The second was a sensitive man, he had to be coddled and listened to every minute of the day. So next time what--a… Continue reading Happy Valentine’s Week

For F.M. Who Did Not Get Killed Yesterday on 57th Street When they shot you you did not become a stone or a tree, you did not become lake water or the unwieldy shadow of a cloud. You darted like a fish through the hole the bullet made in the air. You became air, refusing… Continue reading A Poem from “Ocean Avenue”

  What Lasts and What Goes Visitors on the benchs at the Pavilion tell secrets. It’s a silver world, twists and emptiness hold the attention of millions during their stay. The only success turned out to be the park at Flushing Meadows, New York, back in the sixties; other architecture and memorabilia fell into disrepair— even… Continue reading Chicago Skyline

This is work related, a conference where my feet feel like pillows of pain the bones ache like that loose tooth that won’t come out, and someone has filled my heels with hot lava that I walk on six times a day going to other sessions. So when I get to my room, my sanctuary,… Continue reading Go To the Mattresses