Poetry

I miss singing, the way we trusted/the air that moved between us. I miss/the casual assumption that everything/would be all right in the morning.

See how the winds have shaped her hands to hold hope? So tenuous, it trembles like a hummingbird’s heart. She gently carries hope to a nest in the midst...

Here I am, God, here I am. Here I am with the dishes in the sink, the dust on the shelves, the skin on my hands which is drying out and starting to crack.

Dear One, We have received your letter and we hate to tell you— not hate so much, but are a bit afraid to say— we cannot grant your requests as stated,...

Yesterday, there were fewer cars at the Arrivals dock at the Portland airport than there were dogs being walked on my block....

What if you thought of it as the Jews consider the Sabbath— the most sacred of times? Cease from travel. Cease from buying and selling....