why, why, why
/
it’s not productive to think about
but sometimes it’s important to go over it all again,
like a perverted reassurance
that she died and it’s not my fault or her fault or their fault
What blooms in darkness
/
“Dear Felix,” I start my journal entries now, channeling my son through his two sweet syllables. I feed and water our relationship with words, not wanting to miss what blooms in darkness. I beckon him close, close, closer still.
Read MoreMissed kindergarten
/
a backpack is full of hope and adventure
and discovery of who that precious child will become
in this strange formidable world that all children are called to conquer
Winter, two poems
/
and it is like this every year
when the axis of earth dares change its mind,
and when the memories of past winters
turn to crystals in the air
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