We swam downtown on the L,
the heat index over 100
and humidity clogging our lungs,
to celebrate a birthday.
We love the birthday girl enough to do this.
Had it been our birthday,
we would have rescheduled
for a cooler day.
Not long ago, on Father’s Day, I sat down and wrote a sonnet. A sonnet—my first. I didn’t share it with anyone (though I did mention it here), and I don’t recall if it was any good. And now I might never know, because it turns out that I’ve lost it. Yep, lost it—don’t remember which notebook I scribbled it in, cannot find it in my notes app or my blog drafts, it has just disappeared in the chaos of my daily life.
Meanwhile, I’ve become a published poet. (See how I just tucked that in rather than screaming it aloud, which is what I feel like doing?) My poem Old Dog is included in Escape Into Life’s annual anthology of dog poems to herald the Dog Days of Summer, where I get to share a page with some amazingly talented poets. I’m thrilled, honored, and inspired not just by this success of mine but by the beautiful work of the other poets in the collection. Please read them all; they are sometimes funny, sometimes, sad, sometimes shocking, and all marvelous. It’s hard to believe that I belong in their company. Continue reading
Twirling, running, climbing, leaping, laughing,
a gleaming celebration of life is this small boy,
illuminating a strip mall parking lot
with pulsing energy. Continue reading
Midwestern springA spring breeze rustles the trees
whispers across my neck
and disappears in the heat of summer
Our garden fountain
turns birdie bidet
whenever a robin comes to visit.
Dipping and bobbing,
ruffling his feathers, Continue reading
I sit curled on my chaise writing,
engrossed in the parsing of words, punctuation, rhythms
when the snoring dog at my feet
starts to thump his tail
and I am pulled back into the physical world
where the clamor of his dreams
and the warmth of his rump on my toetops
reminds me I am happy
Driving home from work tonight I heard the word “copse” in the audiobook that’s currently keeping me company in the car, and my mind set off on a path of word association that took me deep into my childhood.
I grew up in the rural Midwest, roaming 300+ acres of pastureland owned by my family and my best friend’s family. “Copse” immediately took me back to the wooded alcove set between two hills in my grandmother’s pasture, near the creek that ran in summer and froze in winter, a place where I played and rested and read, both alone and with my sister and friends, for hours and hours on end. Continue reading