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Ordinary Time

The tang of juniper, the dew-wet grassThat grabs your ankles, apples for the taking.The haze between the hills like smoke at Mass.        The trees; His stretched arms aching. The flickering lamps, the fire, the curtains shut.We’ll watch TV, we’ll get the breakfast baking.We . . . . Continue Reading »


The Christmas angel in the window,a headless, legless mutilation,stands propped by a steel rod. She’s encased in tulle’s graceof white netting, goose feathers,and golden papier-mâché wings. Spray painted mannequin, hersilver skin will never knowthe feel of flesh. We can imagine how she fell . . . . Continue Reading »

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