Poetry

First there were two of me, no doubt because I could not move and could not speak. Wrapped snug as mummies or cigars, they looked larval, inept and cold, and lay swaddled in anesthesia as I peered down on them—so there were three of us—and on my [...]

Ithaca, NY, 1972 Saturday mornings I'd take my young sons to breakfast while my wife slept late. They liked to spin on the counter stools, so I plunked myself between them and slowed them down, left, right, left, right, until our food came: juice, [...]

Sun flickers through the trees beyond the window outside the room in which we sit all morning, talking around the table whose wooden surface quickens with shuttled light and shade, leaf shadow and sun both weaving and woven, each by each, as if the [...]