I spend fallow days sewing small repairs by hand working on old huipils, second-hand jackets cotton pulled loose by relentless movement my fingers ache pinching worn woven fabric vision blurs in the impassable needle’s eye I ask forgiveness and reach … Continue reading
Anne Hills
© 1990 Raven Heart Music (ASCAP) From Herdman, Hills, Mangsen’s Voices and Anne and Michael’s Paradise Lost and Found This here loom is fifty years old Me and Mary we’re a little older We’ve been here since 1918 Now the … Continue reading
I am an Iris thief pilfering lost fields a gleaner of abandoned, rebellious gardens that hold on and wait under collapsed, rotted boards that charcoal the already black soil far off the highways devalued land erupts with history steeped … Continue reading
I am a haphazard gardener too little time or knowledge the birds know it they plant wild cherry trees wherever they choose spread mulberry bushes around and scatter prickly thistle those little green gauntlets, … Continue reading
So, picture this … balloons making-a-break for it while you watch from a line at the dollar store Everyone’s eyes are fixed on the scene outside where a weary, middle-aged clerk is trying to help a very impatient, irritable man … Continue reading
we cannot calculate what we have lost as other species tumble into death the Ash tree standing through the windy frost no longer lives to take and give us breath we watch in horror, … Continue reading
awakened at 2 am by a crying baby, no cat, no, baby, no, cat below the window, a howling above the wind’s whine a freezing night my bare feet find the floor and into … Continue reading
Were the other sisters ever envious of Saint Teresa of Calcutta? They worked side-by-side with her, yet remained as nameless as the rag-colored bags-of-skin-and-bone souls they lifted, washed, spoon-fed and cradled through suffering. Did they feel equally-sainted in God’s eyes? … Continue reading
the oak-leaf hydrangea knows nothing of the slaughter in Orlando only that the time for blooming chill-white flowers has come and the catbird hopping behind me, as I mow the lawn, is not weeping but looking for food in the … Continue reading
I am debating with the reddening sky the nature of the ideal horizon. Perhaps, the still whiteness of the northern most mountains refracting the first light of a newborn day and sending it scattering dancing over icy lakes or possibly, … Continue reading