By |

tumbles of shriveled hydrangea

flyaways from our neighbor’s garbage

the rattle of northwesterly winds

frost warnings for the overnight —

an unsettling toward what comes next

By |

I strike at my chest —

ritual dictates three measures.

in truth, though, that’s only

just the suggested gesture.

my core, I could scoop

and hollow it out —

and then some.

By |

it begins in the far, upper reaches

of the north; some might suggest

at the very top of the world.

tiny whispers at first, a whistle, a hiss —

soon, a screaming, screeching banshee.

its momentum builds and grows and expands

across forests, lakes, rivers & ponds,

vast acres of woodland, mountains and plains,

spreading south into the disjointed States.

frigid cold, a raw & hungry wind —

a relentless ferocity that inundates the land.

seasons shift within seasons

and time is held captive

to the merciless impulses of nature.

By |

her favorite university sweatshirt —

tiny hole grown larger over the years —

strategically centered where her brassiere cups

meet in the middle         no matter

that’s what turtlenecks are for,

to cover the skin, to warm the flesh

to hide what wishes could be seen