Water Weavers

It feels strange, to wake up in a world without them.  A sudden stark realization that they are, simply put, no longer there. And yet, we transition.  This is the work of the mourners—to ease themselves back into life.  The men continue on, their emotions dragging them so deeply that they touch the bottom.  The …

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Hide and Seek

Like water, the brothers uncles cousins now slip through my fingers.  And where they fall is someplace dark. I cannot quite see to the bottom of them.  I try to peer through all of their existence at my feet, to grasp at understanding, but my gazing comes up dry.  To really understand them, the dead …

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Unbreak the Son: a poem

I feel it there, between my heart and ribs, Along that thin strip of flesh. A crack upon the sternum Words And how they rest there in the shallow scoop of skin A clavicle. Words and how they rest there Fingers how they hover on an iliac Scapulae and how the feathers bleed when they …

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Windsong

I wish that I had known Virginia Woolf.  The way she drifts beneath the waters of the Ouse River.  Near Sussex, her pockets full of stones.  I would have liked to hold her hand and smell her hair.  That glorious mane of woman hair, strong and maternal.  Safe.  I would have liked to wrap my …

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