Tag Archives: death

Still I belong

Still I belong to the earth, the grass greening through spring snow, the white shoulders of mountains, the doe bounding and twitching vast soft ears that hear what I cannot. I belong to the early forsythia, bright with promise. To the late killing frost.  I belong to the newborn finch, naked and blind, the jay […]

Knowing it would end

did I ghost my life, indentured to some lesser master, determined not to breathe too gladly, and was I afraid of my body’s fierce appetites, how it loved food, needed water, wanted you, how in the same moments it longed to be free, and caught, as if paradox were its natural disposition, the skeleton on […]


Your days in the dark mute before the television dozing in your wheelchair in a room that stinks of incontinence I want to swim you back like a lifeguard my arm a bandolier across your frail chest beneath the arm made useless by the worst fall (Why did you, why did we, let them pick […]


Who we weren’t, when it was too painful. What we got wrong, all of it. What really happened. Maybe. Where the dead gather, quiet at last. Where we were, before. When frost embellishes the plainest object, as if beauty were actually everywhere. Why running deer seem to float and flying insects quiver, why time speaks to […]


Please listen closely because their menu options have changed and your call is important to them, even if they are experiencing an unusually high call volume. If you are having a medical emergency, hang up and dial 911. But if your need is less acute, more ordinary — say, a human being who might listen, […]

Where I wished the wrens

Where I wished the wrens the wasps the face of the nestbox wrapped like a mummy its mouth occluded saying oh oh beneath the grotesque paper mask saying where are my wrens my beauties where their perfect song? Where I wished the smooth grass the gopher’s mounds fresh each morning soft sepulchers shrouding some dank […]


I saw you there the night before, a leggy black pearl against the glossy white tub, and made a note: Spider. Remove before showering. And the next morning remembered too late, and bore your sodden body to the sunny deck rail where I had meant to leave you, alive. And lay you there gently, lifted […]

Sprinkling the dead

Having been watered, they might grow. Rupture the soft lie of silk and mahogany, the sullen concrete casings, and emerge in the bardo of possibility, small imperfect seeds feeling again the tug of the sun.

The lullaby you finally hear

So wickedly prescient that foreshadowing opener Rock-a-bye baby on the treetops Rock-a-bye and you’ve scarcely said hello to the world. When the wind blows the cradle will rock gently for a time. When the bough breaks you will fall through your life down baby down cradle and all the ground some unknowable distance beneath. So […]

Driving after dark

We drive alone at night behind headlights that ply the roads as if we could see where we are going as if we could see those bright and narrow shafts saying this is where you will be in a second this is where you will be saying the path is clear and safe while the […]