February 28, 2014

February 27, 2014

listening
for the grumbling of robins —
another false spring


February 26, 2014

freshly ground snow
scudding over the road —
wind made visible


February 25, 2014

the weekly phone call —
sisters weaving a braid
of their children’s stories


February 24, 2014

what we know of hope —
my father brings home a boat
from the junkyard


February 23, 2014

thick unyielding ice
letters returned unopened
layers upon layers


February 22, 2014

we wore our old boots —
the half-wild barn kittens
an elusive treasure


February 21, 2014

losing their heads
in a long day of rain —
neighborhood snowmen


February 19, 2014

deep, drifted snow —
our backyard table linen
now at its finest


February 18, 2014

bitter scent of skunk —
some day I too will amble
into my last night


February 17, 2014

under all the ice
the thin determined trickle
of clear meltwater


February 16, 2014

at Christmastime
our boy asked for a new bike —
he wanted summer


February 15, 2014

for herself
the Earth goes to full sparkle
no tip jar in sight


February 14, 2014

the moon disappears
behind light-dimming clouds —
she takes off her ring


February 13, 2014

notes in the margins
of the book you were reading —
the last word


February 12, 2014

old photos
in a drawer that won’t open —
our broken promises


February 11, 2014

aging parents —
I chase the curve of the world
as it falls away


February 10, 2014

February 09, 2014

savoring sweetness —
he wants to teach me about
pomegranate seeds


February 08, 2014

still hearing
the sound of a snapped trunk
and then the fierce bounce


February 07, 2014

long-awaited spring —
he comes out to his mother
without planning to


(for B.)

February 06, 2014

February 04, 2014

black pencil points
birds choosing where to fly next
not yet words


February 03, 2014

deep snow
no sign of the familiar world
the days leave no track


February 01, 2014

still playable
even with that broken string —
his old banjo