This poem was once a bird
This poem was once a bird | An eagle in fact | Whose span of wing | And accurate sight | Was the stuff that legend makes.
This poem was once a bird | An eagle in fact | Whose span of wing | And accurate sight | Was the stuff that legend makes.
Common as pennies, they mob the feeder, empty it in a day— nothing left for finches, wrens, chickadees— birds from the genus Passeridae, meaning flutterer.
These poems, (Siblings, Digging, and Reflection,) are a representation of some of the intense emotions I’ve experienced over the past few years, following the stillbirth of our first daughter, Braylie.
This morning, my body unfurls from sleep, soft sheets teasing bare breasts, groin thrumming. Outside my window, a goldfinch whistles and warbles. I laugh aloud. There are miracles in the garden…
Congratulations to the winners of the 2019 Dreamers Haiku Contest! We had over 600 haiku submitted to this contest. The number and quality of the entries…
The doctor adjusts his glasses, tells me the news. There isn’t much else. I leave the muted-colored office and beat my hands on the steering wheel.
I found in the pocket of the jeans I wore last night a yellow note: from the triple g&t…
Go down the gravel road past the farm where a family lived in a boxcar, past the field with longhorn cattle When you hear donkeys bray, you are almost there.
I have a piece of turquoise beach glass.The second rarest color, after orange. It sits collecting dust between…