The Poems


From the Christmas, 1998, issue 

(No. 2)

yellow petals on the wet walkway near the door where dead letters lie

while forsythia hunches inside counting marble memories from a jar

they popped up everywhere

the ghostly white orb in the grass at granddad’s funeral

the crazy-quilt agate like a mexican blanket rootled from the sand

on her honeymoon

the cat’s-eye after the stillbirth

and the swirling blue and white sphere she found the day

the rock who was the world slipped away