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

Wild Carrot

Some days hope
feels like the
dirtiest of words.
Like the word that
will bring the most
sorrow of all possible
So I keep quiet
not letting it overtake me
or wriggle its way deep inside.
It’s so easy to mistake
a simple feeling
for a complex intuition.
To see meaning
when there
is none.
From here I can
see how each
painful step
was necessary
and how the timing
was oddly
As if there had been
a plan all along.
I think tonight I will
bake some bread
with the flavor of
wild carrot.


Without you I sleep among the particles
analyzing every feeling
every movement
every vibe.
Not wanting to wait
I look for answers
and assurances
where there are none.

A man in a hat reaches out to me
and I take his hand, hoping some
answer lies with him.
But our encounter is brief.

In my own searching I have found
some of my own limits,
which are inconvenient,
but I will learn to
work around them.

The right mix of water and alcohol
can generally fix most things.

But not this.

I manage to fill the bed without you
and wonder sometimes how we
fit in it together.

All us animals have our cycles.
The deer and coyotes do not visit us
every night, but they do when it
suites them and I enjoy their
presence when it’s given.

Natural Light

A field of purple
in the natural light
is almost unnatural
in its brightness.
When it moves
with the wind in
perfect evening light
it is otherworldly.

I wonder who decided
it was a weed.

There is so much
waste in this world,
and the journey
is long for all of us.

My tilted uterus
mirrors the oddness
of it, and the long and
winding road reflects
the x ray image that
the doctor shows me.

What a passage you
have in front of you
my sweet.

The things we
put ourselves through
for what we love
are often surprising.

Balance consists of
a series of decisions,
but we can’t be
right all of the time

I pause to
be happy
then go
back to work.

The brave act of desire

Some days are long
and each tiny sin pounds
upon me like a heavy drop
of rain.

I don’t know what comes next.

We lose pieces
of ourselves out
in the world but
then we come home
and try to gather
ourselves back

You are in
the backyard
on the tractor

You are clearly delighted
and though I want to relish
my bad day, your smile infects.

Later in the
darkness I tell
you how my hopes
make me afraid.

How I have felt it
before, and the loss
that comes after.

We discuss the brave act of desire.

The warmth of
summers coming
makes me want
to drive our country
roads with the
windows down,
red hair swirling,
singing loudly
to the radio.

Though I am
comfortable with
the ridiculous,

I know that this
takes practice
and I cannot
hope to arrive
without it.

The Rhythm of Water

The act of observing
a thing changes
its behavior
its course
its next move

and this next move,
I think, will
be a bold one.

Sometimes I feel as though
If I’ve lost some
part of me.
Like I missed
some important lesson.

Like in deciding to stay inside on
a cold day, you never get to see
the way the trees glisten
in the snow.

It is clear and cold today
Spring tries to make her
way toward us.
The air feels so thin,
and I cant tell which
direction we are going.

There is a rhythm to this
path that we are on,
to the coming of new things,
like a birth of something precious.

Like the rhythm of water
lapping at the sides
of my grandfathers
canvass boat as we
paddle together
synchronized, to get
where we are going
and catch
our dinner.


This morning in the
midst of a small but
severe freak out

I felt absolutely positive
we would never ever,
ever, ever have children
of our very own.

My husband, whom
I had abruptly woken
from a very deep
sleep, tells me that

he is going to begin
videotaping my rants
so that years from now
he can say to our kids

would you like to see
your mother acting crazy?

and they will all yell,
Yes! and we will laugh
together over my
over reactionary
lack of patience.


When a craving
cannot be satiated
distraction is the
only answer.

So I pile on projects,
meaningful work to divert
from the gaping hole
in my middle.

I sift powder
and breathe
through a mask.
Watching the
and the time.

I experiment with
words and fall in love
again with the sound
of pen on paper.

This is an odd place
where everything is
filtered, like light
brought in from
another time.

This is a place that is
not quite itself and
there is nothing to do
but get on with it.