Monday, May 2, 2016

Mystery Flower

Originally from Holland,
I’m called the poor man’s rose.

Sunlight makes me open up
but when it rains I close.

I’ll keep your deepest secrets
in a tiny ruby bowl.

These two lips could gossip
but I won't tell a soul.
                  (What am I?)

Friday, April 29, 2016


The recipe
     For water is
The same as
     It’s always been

Two parts
One part

Two to one
     That’s the rule
To make a water


Thursday, April 28, 2016

The Bravest Deed

I'm shopping with Mom
at the supermarket
and we see a woman
yelling at her kid who
looks about three or four.

She grabs the girl's arm
smacks her on the bottom
about ten times, hard, then
CRACK! across the girl's face.

The girl is screaming
and the lady gets ready 
to smack her again
but all of the sudden Mom
sort of steps between them 
and asks: Is everything okay?
You're having a hard time,
looks like. I remember...

Mom points to me, laughing,
actually calms the lady down
with that girl still sniffling
and me standing there hoping 
no one will notice
my trembling hands.

from Relatively Speaking: Poems About Family

Wednesday, April 27, 2016


An elusive thing
at the birth of spring
the first fine web
of a spiderling.

You can’t hardly feel it
it’s not really there
till it brushes your face
with a ghostly caress

that’s lighter than air.