On My First Day of Kindergarten
i picked a rose for my bus driver
from the bushes outside of my older
brother’s window. it was pink and red
like the deer split beside me
at the end of the driveway,
reeking of fresh cut
grass.
Chapbook Prize
Among Peacocks
my father squeezes past, an old scarf jerked and drawn
about his neck. smell drags throughout the house
as they collect loose change from the cushion cheeks.
The Second Pass
The first pass along the whetting stone
creates an edge too fine to last;
the second, more blunting pass
tempers the edge into usefulness.
Audio, Awards, Chapbook Prize, Chapbooks, Poems
In America
“Why don’t you go to Japan and ask the cats?” I said to the TSA agent when she asked if
Summer Afternoon
With a bucket of sealant and a spent mop on a slow day,
my father sent Prince McMichael and me to muck the buckled seams
along the carpet rolls of pebbled roofing winter freeze and thaw left leaking.
Fireline
And when I heard the two cabins might burn down
at the same time, on maybe even the same day,
I rooted for the fire.