We named it Lucky— this albino squirrel who returns to our backyard every day, like a jovial Spring specter, slack rope walking between the green aroma of open buds on our tree line, and with deliberate suddenness, falling like a soft, fragment of snow drift. It looks out of place, dancing across the deep green, … Continue reading
29 (NaPoWriMo 2020– Airedale)
At times aloof, often initiating silliness, they run like banshees and emit thunder that barks down streets and bounces across yards; wrecking life with joy, they are excellent dogs, but better friends.
28 (NaPoWriMo 2020–3 Haiku for 3 Rooms I Have Known)
i Wood grain wall panels: I would imagine rivers taking me away. ii Feet hang off pull-out twin bed; small dormitory: Picture of freedom. iii Desks in rows; old large windows open; sweat forms from first day nerves, not heat.
27 (NaPoWriMo 2020– Fatherhood: A Yelp Review)
It’s great, they say It’s the best, they exclaim, You’ll be fine, they claim, bringing you to this place, without telling of the exhaustion from bankrupting yourself into a human toy bent by the whims of boyish imagination. They recommend it, forgetting to mention the frustration found in the questioning depths coming from a mirror … Continue reading
26 (NaPoWriMo 2020– 3 Haiku for Random Thoughts)
i A cloudy, Gothic sky: closed tulips waver in cold, April breezes. ii DON’T INGEST CHLORINE. Newspapers give advice that should be obvious. iii Powdered sugar smiles remain after all beignets have been devoured.
25 (NaPoWriMo 2020– Suburban Spring)
–after Issa translated by Robert Haas An eroded black hive hangs abandoned in the brown maze of a maple tree, covering this white house like a pall, conjuring a world patterned after images of Hades, and we shudder, trying to not stare during our walk; approaching like road weary travelers on an undefined quest, our … Continue reading
24 (NaPoWriMo 2020– Mango)
John Milton lied, creating the biblical myth of an apple as the fruit at the root of Eden’s demise. Milton lied, or lived in agricultural ignorance, not knowing of this fruit hanging from branches, weighed down by ripeness, waiting to be plucked, willing to fill open palms with feminine suppleness; its golden red skin an … Continue reading
23 (NaPoWriMo 2020– 3 Haiku for The Evening)
i Squirrels remember where they buried Winter food; holes are left in green lawn. ii Between sporadic small drops of April rain, fall songs from unseen birds. iii Against cold grey skies buds on still bare trees begin to green and thicken.
22 (NaPoWriMo 2020– Хоть кол на голове теши)
You can sharpen with an ax on top of this head; his curls raised and tight like closed black fists that form a whetstone which wears away at the dullness of my parental will. His five-year old stubbornness not a stolen curse but a shared genetic hand-me-down, recognized as our eyes meet and grapple in … Continue reading
21 (NaPoWriMo 2020– Karen)
You can bite into it, a sweet Danish crumb encased in an English shell, melting onto taste buds, denoting notes of purity. You hold it in mouth, the fullness of two syllables stressed, but light and unlike the dead salt-saturated weight of thick Middle Passage sails. You can roll it over and under tongue without … Continue reading
