Today a bunny hopped across my deck
and paused to peer in through the window
My husband was at the stove, stirring hot chocolate,
and that’s what the bunny saw
presumably Continue reading →

I do not know how old our redbud was.
I know I have no memory of my childhood home without it,
and no memory of it small.

I remember countless days playing beneath it,
gathering its long pods into piles,
thinking them debris,
ungrateful for the miracle of life they held within. Continue reading →

Just when I thought the day had nothing left to give—
when I thought I could write a poem opening with sadness,
loss of hope, lack of hope, despair, emptiness,
or maybe simple ennui
(though no simple prospect, that)—
I found I couldn’t capture that darkness,
couldn’t plumb that depth,
had to stand on the summit of joy and cry out happiness. Continue reading →

I have had my son in my life
twice as long
as I had my father.

My husband, thrice.

I’ve been motherless longer, too.

How long is grief?
How long sorrow? Continue reading →

Today marks the start of National Poetry Month, and I’m planning to start it off the way I do every April: by reading T.S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land.” The poem is like an old friend I enjoy visiting with periodically, and the reading is both a comforting ritual and a rite and harbinger of spring. I’ve been reading a lot of poetry lately, and occasionally writing a verse or two, which is entirely new to me. So National Poetry Month has extra meaning for me this year, and I’m going to try to pay attention all month. While I’m not certain exactly where that will take me, I’m hoping perhaps to finish at least a couple of poems I’ve been working on, and read a whole lot more. I want to say I’ll write something here touching on, or maybe inspired by, poetry every day, but that might be overly ambitious. We shall see.

For now, to start off the month, let me share some of the poetry I’m currently reading and re-reading: Continue reading →