Along the path I’m wearing thin
between this place and that
stands a wide field, some years corn
and some years soybeans.
And today,
the corn is shorn close
like the back of a sheep
and the honey wagon trundles … read full post
fertile
burning the bodies
We piled them in barrows,
body on body,
and carted them to the pit.
We lifted them into
the ashes of their kin,
and my youngest scattered
ragged remnants across the lawn.
When we lit them
their skins crackled and … read full post
life cycle of a leaf
All along they were
breaking, each bud
crowning into the bright
daylight of a new spring,
emerging from treetops like
feathers pluming out of caps,
green against the golden
halls of April.
In the woods on the longest day,
July … read full post
solace | autumn playlist
It’s been a brisk, clear-blue-sky kind of day here in Indiana – the perfect start to autumn.
Of all seasons, autumn is by far my favorite. Though I love the changes – the reminder I need that every day is … read full post
neon boys
I see them:
alive and electric like the air,
pinwheel boys revolving,
perched on flimsy plastic sticks,
crushed into the midway dust by clowns
and fools and cliques alongside tacky
blood-striped cones.
A broken echo, silenced sob,
and they lose … read full post
five thousand
The lake is a glass dish
and the sky rests in it,
flushed and warm
like fresh-baked bread,
pillowy and dusted flour-white.
I lay back into it,
the hum in my ears
drowning out the static in my brain,
slowing … read full post
baling
The bales
are plump and fragrant
on the back of the field,
like just-baked jelly rolls
or chubby baby cheeks.
I bury my nose in
the air and inhale,
and plant a kiss
on the cheek of the earth,
who, … read full post
daycrown
The vase of lilacs set upon
the dining room table,
like a jewel in the day’s crown,
smiles upon each of us
gathered round it,
lords and ladies of the court
feasting in its presence.
Placed as it is
upon … read full post
“I would not have been a poet” (Wendell Berry)
(from This Day: Sabbath Poems, 1994: VII)
I would not have been a poet
except that I have been in love
alive in this mortal world,
or an essayist except that I
have been bewildered and afraid,
or a storyteller … read full post
spring of ’20
Why is it that I hold
the spring in such suspicion?
I have given up on the hope
that life will lift up its tousled head
and throw the covers back
with a fruity yawn the size of an open … read full post