spring

mother arrives with a knife

cutting down the dead tree with swift blows-

pulling back dull curtains, bagging old

autumn leaves & winter bones with twisted bow    

this is a season of hardiness as stubborn

bull, plunging into the open air with grit & breath

of a seasoned traveler, braving the rain & roller- 

coaster wind, driving head first to sow seeds & spores

spring season arrives with false starts

much like a failing review of a premiere movie night-  

or a disappointing first-look of famous landmark-

it is a short season as the cherry blossoms trees-

yet in every spring season, you marvel its art-

thick thistles of flowerets- 

gnarly green fingers rising from mud-

red-veined leaves, delicate as old woman's hands-

  

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetics:   Getting Hooked on Opening Lines, hosted by Kim Russell.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thank you.

Ten Ways of Looking at the Crossroad

I.  

The sky is a glass

Of mourning blackbirds

I stand rooted, a weeping willow 

At the crossroad    

II. 

A sign 

Falls flat on grass

Knocked down by errant wind-

This ceased to be a cross-

                                           road    

III.

Two sisters stood at the crossroad 

One chose the sun, west of the forest   

The other chose the moon, east of the river

When they met again after a year,

Their faces were maps

Their hands were cups

Hued of their journeys 

IV. 

At midnight

Your reckless heart rips away

The bandages

And follow the unmarked road 

V.  

From the distance

A crossroad

Strikes a shiver of excitement

Like choosing an ice cream flavor & toppings- 

VI.  

He walks with me 

And the crossroad turns into 

A boat ride in the canal

VII.  

At the crossroad

I felt every pebble, gravel & slab

beneath my feet

VIII.  

Death arrived

At this crossroad

Early Sunday morning

IX.    

When she gave an ultimatum - 

The crossroad  

Became a street marked with dynamites 

X.     

Your face is

A book

Stamped with crossroads

I have yet to figure out

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics - Fated, hosted by Merril Smith.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

house [for sale]

 

i grew a body 

over the decades & seasons:

sturdy legs, giraffe high ceilings & brown

weathered arms during long winter nights

i found my stubborn voice 

from the brick chimney, incessant howling

of a child on a strong 

stormy day, black hair whiplashed by wind

i discovered my elephant's ears- 

doors opening and footsteps are news -

jostling voices by dinner table and kitchen 

are stories, as are goodbyes from the stoop and stairs

you talk to me as if i am more than bricks and stones

and painted white walls.  you see,  i stitched a tail 

to swim with blue whale at the basement and green-

thumbed my fingers to forest neon pothos 

and chatter with ferns & crotons & ivy -

-no we do not linger on chaos & turmoil of news-

we fill our heads with birdsongs & spring's arrival of lilacs-

& yes, i am scrubbed clean, ready for Sunday's open house- 

the woman holding the box of for-sale placards wrestles

with her decision - keep my keys or give it to someone else -

i like to believe i am priceless burrow of maps

and irreplaceable nest of "memories"

but reality hits as sudden hail storm on a sunny day-

regardless of the price tag listed in the property deed 

 - to safe keep my keys -

my face grew a character, familiar as musk of pines-

because all this time, you see, we grew in/

out of each other   

watching the dying sunlight by maple tree 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB:  Magical Realism.   Join us when the virtual pub doors open at 3pm EST.   Please see our exciting 2026 Anthology Project to celebrate the 15th anniversary of dVerse Poets Pub here.