Poetry

The Question of Poetry

It first appeared as a white patch on the ivy covered wall near an open window of the arts building   It caught my eye immediately Like paint spilled on a canvas of green   Not …

Oklahoma Dust

Dust on the dash, windows up as we roll through back roads, radio on static. I will never leave you – in my head, not on my tongue – as mile markers disappear into a cool sunset. That flight …

Mirror, Mirror

“What’s that?” My father and I were cleaning out my grandmother’s railroad apartment and had come near the end of the hallway with her chest of drawers. “Your grandmother’s bed sheets.” He …

Flight

You’re strapped in for the hour flight, when a young woman, all flush and out of breath, stops at your row, apologizes with her eyes for making you get up. You fumble with the seat belt, …

Felt Tongue

a sad body without a lift inside adler shoes walking down narrow streets in the loneliness  of city lights drawing out the  sad colors with a strong yellow  bar of light that the …