night breeze

I feel the breeze through
the bedroom window
on a summer night
as I sit with my baby
at my breast,

it’s the end of summer
and finally the coyotes
have returned.

their song comes through
the open window and in the
odd hours of the early morning
they keep me company
in the quiet and the dark.

The cool comes on quickly and
autumn makes herself known
as the warmth of the day
arrives later and later.

Daylight makes lessons learned
in the dark harder to remember.

There is a feeling of relief
and then dismay
when I realize that
I am still myself,
despite the drastic
changes to my

Stretch marks,
like any other scar,
are a reminder
of where I’ve been
a record on my body
of each destination
and crash.
A mind may forget
but the body remembers.

It is written on my bones
and this body will find a way.

In a time of crisis
I strain to remember
what coyote taught me
about the lighthearted
nature of the universe
I say it over and over again
in my head, hoping repetition
will make it stick.

Her mouth curves into a wide grin
around my nipple and
again I am in love.





Published on Zoomoozophone Review

Rain Boots

Seasons are changing
and soon the rain
will begin again,

but instead of crying
along with it, we will
run out into the night
and splash in our rain boots
until there is no energy
left in any of us

and we will not mourn
over the beauty that
has come and gone
because we will
know better than
to think that the
weather will last.


We go into the wilderness
to find a wilder version of ourselves,
to release her out into the world.

We look, trying to see everything
between the curves and the edges,
how it blends together and fades.
We circle back, again and again,
each time getting just a little
closer to the center.

The sounds of the ocean and
the windswept pines belong together.

We desire. We demand. We rage.
We are quiet when we should speak.
We shed layers. Grow. Surrender. Leave behind.
We die and come alive again.

We dance wildly in an empty room
trying to enjoy instead of endure.
We live together on our separate planets.
We arrive again and again.

My body was made for this.

lifespan of a leaf

The leaves begin
so beautifully
green. Hanging from
branches lovingly
and intelligently placed
to do their work.

The colors change.
They hang still,
lovely in their aging.

Then the fall,
at first a delight,
piled and crunching
as we walk
secretly skipping steps
to hit one with a particularly
appetizing crunch.

But then the
rains come and
the leaves loose
their edges,
becoming only
a soggy mush
clinging to my boot.


We both know that
a half empty shelf
would not be at home here
so we go to work filling it.

Changing lives so dramatically
makes it hard to stay
in touch with the past.

I remember reaching up and out
of the chlorinated water
to pull a green bean from its vine.
It was delicious, as only freshly
picked things can be,
eaten amidst a backyard swim.
But now I have forgotten the taste.

When packing an
entire life into
a smallish car
there are things
that will be left behind.
There is not room
to bring much
that is nonessential.
Though when I arrived here
I found more to throw away.

I suppose we
must discard
to make room
for more collecting.
Accumulation is
difficult to avoid.