tiny bird
I am so smitten
by your lovely
feathers

tiny bird
I am so smitten
by your lovely
feathers
robins worm-search amid a gentle rain
dark clouds roll in from the SW
no need to finagle an unwieldy garden hose
our Midwest soil basks in its refreshment

~ Originally published in the March 2024 issue of The Argyle Literary Magazine; Photo by Iryna Limborska on Unsplash
cavalier women chase
a powder-blue hat
down a windy thoroughfare
*
they balance Easter eggs
on upturned teacups
under a globular sun,
*
left hands stroking
the unruffled feathers
of a great horned owl
*
while a circle
of Slovakian tourists
marvel at their feats
*
of dexterity
and fierce bravado—
each is wearing high heels
*
after all, mounted
on roller skates,
ankles cloaked
*
in cashmere stockings,
their delicate earlobes
dripping in malachite
~ a fascinating ‘nother look at an old classic

I’m reading a 10th grade book assignment,
one I’d merely skimmed at the time
*
it’s overwhelming what they’d endured
the hardships, the struggles, the isolation
*
they believed in, they trusted the promise
of this new Canaan, this soil-rich land
*
but, now, look where we’ve come
just look at what’s become of us

your bright happy faces,
your persistence of blooms!
mood lifter. smile giver.
I shall plant you forever
in my small, humble garden.
he practices his form in the living room
tall windows peer out across the fairway
a slight breeze ripples through the locust leaves
my husband’s silhouette against a spring sky
I like to let mine settle a bit
he likes his right out of the oven
chocolate chip cookies

Photo by Parker Hilton on Unsplash
I ride a Bengal tiger
striding across the Saharan sands,
my faithful entourage flank me
to both the right and the left.
sentries guard my tent
in the chill of the desert night
while I record the day’s transactions —
twelve bolts of silk,
eighty tins of spices, a multitude
of rare birds, poisonous snakes,
gold, salt & ivory —
preserving the glories
of our pilgrimage
in a leather-bound journal,
every page rimmed
in gold leaf,
every word, homage
to our wide-eyed wanderings.
I’m six for six —
every dahlia tuber
I’ve potted
Is poking up through
the soil
*
oh, be still
my beating heart!!
cool morning
spring’s prism promises
my sweet orange
kalanchoe petals

Chit Chat