Slow Walk
I take my father’s arm.
We are about to embark on a long journey
across the lawn.
From hydrangea curling around the back door
to a Norway maple at the final edge.
Insult to Injury
I find an old air gun
and a can of ammo
down in the basement
in a cardboard moving box,
along with some other stuff,
flotsam from previous lives.
Wetness: An Assay
Take a square, a circle.
Flip it over, ask it to rotate: its face stays the same.
An isosceles triangle
doesn’t choose which of its sides.
Awards, Poems, Rattle Poetry Prize
The Minstrel Cycle
is a group bike ride involving guys in tight pants and floppy hats with feathers, I tell my daughter. They
Mother’s Day Unsonnet
To think that I was once a germ of light
in the belly of another being,
and that this fact is unremarkable
in the vast plod of human existence …