mapping

the storm in my head

by counting the miles

spirea waiting

to jump in and double-dutch

with forsythia

bike wheels

with cards in the spokes —

here comes spring!

recycling day –
the wind pushes last year's leaves
into the street

before the big test

she patiently teaches me

how to skip stones

my father coming home

“Any good mail today?”

teaching me hope

(Written as my parents drove home from FL to upstate NY.)

after the death —

wide open days choked with

wait, where was I?

(In memory of Anne Jablow, beloved friend, wife, mother, and fourth grade teacher.)

the cold air returns

to find us with our heads down,

cheering each green shoot

leaving the grocery store —

a man with a bright bouquet

and a shy smile