If only my tears for you could speak, they would ask:
How could you be gone?
Wherever you are,
Can you also hear the strange solitary bird outside my window?
Singing it’s wild, raucous, song every night
Since even before we knew for sure where you’d gone
Read MoreWhat can my puny form offer
To those who’ve forgotten
That every child is all our children
For now, only my grief
Through this small open throat
My imperfections
Tears and a warbled song
For the wee ones with their hollowed eyes
And spines like swollen pearls
Read MoreMaybe four years old, his black hair was shorn short, except for one long braid that erupted from his head like a floppy antennae. When he saw me he immediately exclaimed “bonjour!” then blew me a kiss and wrapped his gleaming dark eyes around my heart.
Read MoreSo it was the twilight of their love we want you to be familiar with, when a great calm washed across their days, and the old couple had come to relish each passing hour…
Read MoreI am draped within the ocean
Fluid, undone
I cannot find where I end
This past year, I co-created BLOOM and LUMINOUS, two interactive, site-specific Hudson Valley performances under the umbrella of Circle Creative Collective.
Read MoreIt is winter
And if you care to notice,
The naked branches brandish tight buds in their seemingly empty little fists
I felt some fluff on a grey stalk
Held it with awakened fingers
Only to find moisture there, a
Soft vibration of aliveness
Ouroboros, this ancient symbol of life, death, and rebirth spans cultures and time. It embodies what LUMINOUS was and also what Circle has been and is becoming.
Read MoreI am standing at the edge of morning. A slender line of indigo runs parallel with the snaking Shawangunk Kill River here, illuminating the trees in the place where Water meets Land.
Read MoreMy athletic 12-year-old niece tells me absently mid-air, looking down, “I hate my feet; they’re so ugly,” while wiggling ten perfectly adorable toes.
Read MoreI handed them to her in a see-through sleeve of cellophane, flourished with a slender satin bow. Even without abandoning the sash of purple or thin outer garment, one could plainly see their inner ruddiness and wild, unexpressed containment.
Read MoreAs some of you may already know, my mother is a treasure huntress. She is also a trailblazer where taste and design are concerned, seeing and celebrating beauty where others can’t yet appreciate it.
Read MoreHow do you leave?
Not a place
But an orientation
We tore out the walls, replaced a window, added another, ripped up 5 layers of old flooring, and now it awaits its next fate. My kitchen, heart of the home, a mother’s canvas and all the rest. Wrote a poem in the wee hours in less than 8 minutes to pay homage to the moment…
Read MoreI remember the night I encountered my great-grandmother’s secret, perched in a glass of cleaning solution on the shelf above the bathroom sink.
Read MoreMending from the clutches of fever and flu
That comes in waves
Not unlike the Atlantic below
He held the deep orange fruit in his hand, palming its smooth skin. “No, not quite ripe yet,” he muttered, a smile arcing across his tapered lips.
Read MoreAfter the terrible fire struck Ellen’s house in Massachusetts, she continued living there with her three kids for weeks. My parents and their friends all wanted to help her.
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