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Short
Forms Page Five
a lily
covered in ice
first freeze
caught me unaware you
were already gone
Frameless Sky fall
2014
day moon...
blue sky siphoned
from black
sunrise...
a line of gulls pulling
the tide behind it
cattails 2015
sandpipers flee
north for the summer
i release
the lines that bind my heart
too closely to you
cattails Spring 2015
cloaked by clouds
that morphine moon
his essence
slip-slides each night
back to Vietnam
a falling tide
sucks at the shoreline
they speak
about war days now lost
to the tug of time.
passing storm...
the pine tree throws
its own shower
Kernels 2015
falling leaves
the bald children laugh
at a clown
Pulse: The Voice of Medicine 2016
mother scissors
him from each photo
frozen in time
I stand by the black hole
that once sucked my heart away
Falling Sky Fall
2015
another
star.
birthed in the north sky
such wonders
clustered above our heads
while we sighed over Elvis
Skylark 4:1 Feb 2016
Hedgerow Journal April 2016
In
memory of my first husband
chill
drives
away
the lingering birds
his
body
so
shockingly shrunken
my
prince of lost dreams
blackbird
already in flight
the worst part
is not being able to say
words he'll now never hear
love letters
fading in the chest
tomorrow
the flag will fold over
memories of 'Nam'
cradle moon
fading near daybreak
i wonder
if he rode it last night
for one last farewell
he
slides
through
a slice in time
a
soft touch
halts
tears, shows me hope
in
the afterglow of absence
``````````````````````
heat wave
the corn's shadow moves
half an inch
published in the 2016 HSA Anthology
Go to shorts Six, Go
to shorts Seven
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cattails 2015
two haibun
Raging seas have surfed us faster than anticipated towards the bouy that
marks the long turn into Atlantic City, New Jersey. Turn too soon and
you hit shoals. We had planned our night run to arrive mid morning in
order to easily see this crucial buoy. Now, still dark, the buoy sits in
a sea of 'experimental buoys', lit up, too, so that it seems we are
sailing into a sky of stars rather than this dark, frothing sea.
I quickly grab our hand bearing compass, get a magnetic reading on the
fading glimmer of our last identified buoy then read the glow of light
on the distant shore that is Atlantic City, scrambling below to chart
where the two lines intersect-- our position. Time is of the essence.
Back on the pitching deck i hold the compass towards the course I've
drawn between our location and our coveted buoy, pick out one faint
light among the others and point.
'Are you sure?' R says.
The only thing I'm really sure of is my pounding heart but I say 'yes'.
Three hours later we drop anchor in Atlantic City harbor and sleep the
day through.
casino lights
blink at the sun's belly
groaning halyards
We are in the North Carolina waterway now, slowly moving south from
the Chesapeake Bay, as fall appears in the tall trees alongside us.
Albert and Suzanne motor-sail in front of us in the only other boat
we've seen as small as ours since we left Boston. The water is calm so
Albert plays his fiddle, foot guiding the tiller, hair brushing his
shoulders, while I wash breakfast dishes in a bucket in our cockpit.
A huge power boat races up, then thrusts into reverse to stop beside
us. The passengers rush to our side, cameras clicking, until they roar
away again, leaving our boats rocking. I wonder whose photo albums
we'll be in, how many viewers will later say, 'how quaint'.
a log floats
beneath the jet's contrails...
somewhere a song
crows
fill
the afternoon sky
that storm
in your eyes when I ask
unbidden questions
Skylark Spring
2015
thirty years past
measured by birds' flights
kissing me
once for the good days
at my goodbye door
arrowheads
from old battles
buried
beneath yet another mall
dead before its time
thorned
roses
braided through her hair
the bloom
in her cheeks deepens
Falling Sky Fall
2015
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above
three tanka in cattails
spring/summer 2015
gardenias
open to the red dawn
carry me back
to white beside white,
Vietnam hovering
Moonbathing
Spring/summer 2015
rain pockmarks
the cobblestone path
relentless
this dry spell continues
unbroken between us
All Soul's Eve-
an owl's call falls
from the sky
a yellow butterfly
beats against my window
burial day
hit and run
a shoe box funeral
for my first loss
rain pockmarks
the cobblestone path
relentlessly
window shopping
my reflection tries on dress
after dress
Frogpond 36:3
my father's blue robe
just the two of us gobbling
fried green tomatoes
Brass Bell August 2016
day moon fading her blank stare
Acorn Fall Issue 2016
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