March 31, 2016

You didn’t cry

often enough

in your long life      

held back sobs

always saving


you never know

when it might be



At ninety-four

you float in your

salt bed

buoyant with tears

feeling pain no doctor

can diagnose

something seeps

inside you


February 25, 2016



My Father’s Mother

began to disappear

after her husband’s death,

but it took us years to notice.

When I was still a little child

she seemed present, solid as

the marble-top credenza in her room.

Some women, widowed young enough,

fill their spousal gap with yet

another man or,...

November 3, 2015


She has really white teeth.

When half the world is looking for a meal, she is

taking a shower.

She relies more on her dishwasher than on her mate.

She believes in Barbie dolls; but then,

she grew up with television.


Her mother made grocery lists, her grandmother made pies.


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