Blighted Ovum
When I hear the doctor use the term, I think I’ve nourished graffitied rows of shop windows, grates drawn closed, rows of trees felled by Dutch elm disease, side…
The Land Where Your House is Built
Remember it was once gold, desperate as a coin placed in a reservation slot machine. When your father drives through town in his Corolla he feels small again, like he…
Notice the Hills
NOTICE THE HILLS because they may not be natural, the tour guide said, and pointing she quickly moved on to say the city was full of so much old…
Many Letters Later
It’s easier to send gifts: a postcard from Portland, used books, colored pencils and a sketchbook, a birthday card with an ugly cartoon baby crying on its cover. I…
Resurrecting a Songbird
It was a goldfinch. A bright male that must have been knocked from the branch, pinch of white breast quivering when I found him. He was dead before I…
Two Shores
My little boat can only go so far. The coiled rope unwinds from the dock to just about midway across the lake— the point where the trees on the…
In the Butterfly Garden
Here is another hive the eye might climb into, another place I’d like to put my hands, as if the heart were wings at work under the chicken wire,…
A Little Ode to Television
After the disorder of my days, and in the defeat of my evenings, I love the quiet, revocable suicide of television, especially British detective shows, where everyone is driving…