April 30, 2015

April 29, 2015

first sun of the year
in every neighborhood
the smell of manure


April 28, 2015

April 27, 2015

Gettysburg hills
she thinks of something else lost
in the room that burned

(for our dear friends in Hopewell)


April 24, 2015

poised to run as if
moonlight is escapable
the front yard bunny

April 23, 2015

still in that space
waiting for their plucky songs
(up before the birds)


April 22, 2015

pear blossoms falling
for just a moment
my eye thinks “snow!”


April 21, 2015

feeling careless now
I think again about
the last time we spoke


April 20, 2015

childhood bedroom
pink until I woke up
and asked for green


April 19, 2015

April 18, 2015

April 17, 2015

April 16, 2015

paper airplanes
our thirteen year-old
explains flight again


April 15, 2015

April 14, 2015

April 13, 2015

private garden
the turned down corners
of her seed catalog


(My friend Rachel Wente-Chaney kindly responded in kind! Thanks, Rachel!)

Shelley in her bed
Seed catalog ink on cheek
Dreams of planting soon



April 11, 2015

April 10, 2015

tiny frogs
with their perfect morning song
spring, spring, spring!


April 09, 2015

tracing absence
only the scent of pine
where the old tree stood

(HT to S.M.)

April 08, 2015

I send my past self
a note about the garden
let berries ripen


April 07, 2015

April 06, 2015

parched ground cracks
wider than the earth between
she takes in the news


April 05, 2015

answering machine
for one wrenching moment,
the voice of a ghost


April 04, 2015

April 03, 2015

Easter basket grass
somewhere a sharp-eyed robin
thinks about a nest


April 02, 2015

spring thaw
suddenly the streets are full
of children on bikes


April 01, 2015

all Hallow’s Eve —
divvying up the candy
over prank stories