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Deathexpand_moreHe’d reenlisted in ’64; he would not go home until the War was won.
Grief is a rude houseguest. She stays up late. She leaves messes.
This so far is a haunting, the bleeding heart we used to hear about.
In a job like that you see the dirty work of Empire at close quarters.
The only person I’d seen naked was my mother the night she died.
Since the accident she lost her hold on the world and never got it back.
The grass is always greener in the cemetery, was a joke I made to Jed.
The band was amateur at best. It didn’t matter. People loved them.
He hadn’t meant to hurt her. Drowning people will do anything for air.
In the closet: a single hair draped from the one hanger left.
Whales are very big (I saw one on a beach once) but trash is way bigger.
Her will is resolute, and he knows enough not to challenge it.
You’ll find me here in the peach orchard, the most I can muster.
I dream of watching my grandfather stagger home through the snow.
We’re all trying, in our own ways, to parse what we may have done wrong.
I insist you peel me. Keep my skin when I’m gone.
The clown has taken a seat at our veranda table in absolute silence.
I could shoot you and nobody would say boo. I’m within my rights.
Soledad is the name a woman is given, a sentence a woman must serve.
They know whoever passes on the curving road just by the footstep.
Try to make order in one direction, and things shoot off in another.
This has been a good day. First the milestone of getting to page 300.
I was nineteen and mentally infirm when I saw the prophet Isaiah.
Through all this the sands kept vigil, harboring blood and bones.
His thoughts swirl around him. Maybe women aren’t women anymore.
On Christmas Day, we lost one of our great advocates for poetry.
He had found my younger brother Brad there on the kitchen floor.
I would slip the hook under the sow’s chin, hold my breath, and pull.
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens her first rose
I know what my promises are worth, know the worth of material things.
