the high priestess and the crow

he is a crow like his mamma
picking up tiny glimmering
pieces of rubble
that call to him and whisper
we are gifts for you
dinosaur teeth
drift wood
and stream worn stones
he runs his fingers over
them searching their texture
their history
and weight
offering these treasures
bright eyes searching
til they are weary
on the breaks from
impending adulthood
eyes turn to moons as he smiles
at my joy




Some days I want to chastise him
For not taking a moment to say hello
Or rushing in and shutting the door
To me
I see the movement to self and feel the push away
As makes sense
And as I did
The point where there is the slightest
Revulsion mixed with the familiar love
Nature moves us away
As they age
it comes back
In the form of agonizing regret
The times we are embarrassed by them
And ashamed of our own needs
Come back like cinder blocks dropped from
Up high
Landing on our chests
Perpetually looping
No rest in our heads
But we know the
Worn path as we have tread it prior
And try to say, it’s alright
I really only remember the love
The day you were born
Where you rest on my heart



In the upstairs room of the old farmhouse
A black and white photograph
On the top shelf
A woman floats away
On the tiniest
Hint of tip toes
On grace,
One foot in front of the other
Causing a gentle curve of the hip
She wears a pale kimono in the grey of time
Cinched at her enviable waist
Extended from soft shoulders
Swan wing arms wait for the wind
Or the nails
Hair white even then
She walks, a slight bow
To her head
In humility
Or simply to see where she will land
Her fingertips dance
Swan Lake
Too dainty to catch her
Her pose
Crucified in time
Face now forming
Half of a smile is all,
As this
New delicate structure
Comes in to relieve the weight
Of her eternal beauty

happy birthday baby

If I let myself go back
To the day I found him
It’s crisp and raw and now
Even though it was

Long ago now
It’s easy to forget where the years went
But in time after
I am lost

My four year old is twenty two suddenly
In the time since he passed
I was old then in my eyes
How foolish

I found the signs
Chewed rolaids
Drying my hair after
A graveyard shift

Bleary eyes turning
Getting ready
To sing

Happy birthday baby
I love you
Were the last words
He spoke to me

Sitting silently
Slumped in the pretty iron chair
Waiting to sing
Lifeless and always beautiful


I can hear the rain banging
On the roof
Demanding to come in
As it did in the big old
The house wracked with stories
Of its own
Now owns my stories
As each place I visit
And leave.
It witnessed
It took and gave life and

And now in this small
That is home
Yet not
I finally can write my own stories.
I can struggle here
With my own
Demons. Forgetting with age
And the passing of time
That it has always been
A struggle to accept
The beauty of the place
I am in.

One eyed, one horned,…

I watch him sing
And dance
Which he never does
Because he says
Only girls
Sing and dance
And he wrinkles his nose in
Feigned anger
When I do
Where does he get that
When his mother
Lifts stone
Herself up
That women are
Somehow more frivolous

But I let it
as he sings
Flying purple people eater
And does the motions for
With a semi toothless
And a fleck of
The devil
In his eyes
I realize
It is such a
Beautiful day