Friday, December 14, 2012


My mind bends to the ground
like the wind whipped branches
of a willow
scraping where they will dig
to lay the bones
of little children
who never danced
at a prom in the light
of the moon

Who never laid
in a lover’s arms
under the stars
that claimed
“This is your day”

What evil have they been spared
that could have rivaled
what blew their lives
to pieces

A timeless violence
so horrid
that we look away
like the townspeople of Dachau
even though we smell
their bodies burning
and dust their ashes
from our well-shod feet

Three dozen
little arms
snapped in two
like twigs
of brittle lack
of understanding

I long to wrap my arms
around my grown manchild
and my two little women …
three angels still winging
past the rubble
of so many other lives

Copyright 2012

Saturday, October 27, 2012


Tired and hungry
but too early
for dinner in Italy.
On our plates
Korean dumplings.
The pungent
aroma of Kimchee.
On the streets outside
women of Milano
wafts of Parisian perfume.
In her heart
Geneva and Harrisburg.
All that defies
geography and time.

Copyright 2012

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

The Breakup

I can’t be your friend anymore
I said
clenching my jaw which
I’m painfully learning
in some cases
is better than biting my tongue

I’m sorry, I said, though really,
at this moment, I’m not
But I can’t be your friend anymore,
because you refuse to hear me
when I say I cannot
keep storing your king size bed
in the  tiny urban apartment
that I now share
with my boyfriend
and besides 
keeping it this long
was never the deal

Now that sounds just silly
but it’s not.

Our friendship
began when our parents
would lovingly lay us down on their
king size beds in one another’s houses
so they could share dinner and laughter downstairs
and we would creep like burglars to the top of the stairs
to eavesdrop and giggle and imagine what
it’s like to
be a grown-up

The thing is
if she cannot even try to picture
what my apartment looks like right now
then she isn’t even trying
to imagine
the grown-up me

Copyright September 2012

Sunday, September 9, 2012



Some say,
When you find yourself
in darkness,
remember, it’s your choice.

I say,
What planet
can resist rotation?

How quickly
earth revolves
day into night. 


Memories must be mined
and stoked like coals

No use are they
hidden deep within the earth
we all become

Perhaps they’re right that
if we wake before the dawn
we will remember
all it lights.


is one of many
Polish names
for murder

by no choice of
my foremothers.

Here burned innocence
stoking absence
scorched into the soil.

And yet the sun still rises
over fields of
hopeful cornflowers

So very long I’ve remembered
this particular darkness
in which I never lived. 


So finally one morning
I inhaled beauty
like they in all
that dust did faith

My arms outstretched,
hope rising from city streets,
wires slicing through
a tentative prayer. 


Perhaps the answer,
is so simple: 

Speak love
in any language
no matter what
the time of day. 

And yes,
even when it must
be whispered.
Copyright September 2012