new prose in Cagibi

I’m beyond thrilled and honored to have my prose piece, Postcard from a DMV Parking Lot in New York, published in Cagibi Express! It is a marvelous journal.

Don’t Love Them Too Much

I’ve been gone awhile. Spending many days in the nursing home with my beautiful mom. Hope you’re all well and excited for a colorful Autumn. I’m hard at work trying to pull together a labor-of-love; a poetry collection about care-giving, love, loss and family. I’ve been doing loads of writing offline. As you know, getting published is uphill all the way. So, my friends, onward and upward. ❤️

I’m thrilled to have this piece, Don’t Love Them Too Much, published in the Front Porch Review! Click anywhere here in this red copy and visit the Front Porch Review. Many talented writers visiting the charming home there!

soft island

needless to say – the gorgeous face here is my darling mother at 18 –

this piece is one of those experimental canvases – like picking up a pencil and doodling – unsure of the journey – but comforting all the same 🌹

Blue Humor

So very honored to have “Blue Humor” published in The Stillwater Review

“The journal maintains a dedication to the lyric poem—musicality at the heart of it, the delicate ideas at work in the layers. Since that time our journal has published poets like Michael Waters, Judith Vollmer, Paul Genega, Adele Kenny, Robert Mitchell, J.C. Todd, Chuck Tripi, Mihaela Moscaliuc, Diane Lockward, Robert Carnevale, Jessica deKoninck, Edwin Romond, Lois Marie Harrod, and Roberto Carlos Garcia.”

Weathervane

Weathervane – a tiny true story
check out Front Porch Review, and thank you

Weathervane 

Eyes pointed at the sky. Melody clear and perfect settled on the roof. Tiny voice filling the air. Delicate hollow bones balancing on the weathervane. Seems decades ago we discovered the wrought iron fixture at the flea market; a creaky dive with discarded toys, Post-Depression tools and miles of missing teeth. We anchored the wind reader, with its proud patina horse, to the garage peak. There, our valiant filly galloped through the atmosphere till her strong legs could no longer outrun the wind. Somehow, the compass remained intact.

On the dull backdrop of another chilly overcast day, my little bird friend has chosen one metal branch above the others. As I listen to sunrise songs floating down to the driveway, I assign new meaning to the weathervane. S for Sun—for you, the warmth in our lives no matter the weather.

unwarm

new poem “unwarm” published in FREE LIT Magazine, please check out this creative online journal, many talented writers & artists

This piece is based on the night my father passed away. I can’t believe it will be a year this November since he left us. On the night of my dad’s death, all emergency responders were nothing short of amazing🌹

Unwarm 

was it your choice
choosing sleep to die in
I watched them
watched them dad
in your mint bedroom
trying to make your chest say something
while your mouth was bound with elastic
and a pump shoved down your throat
screaming in my head

PLEASE stop

he’s gone

leave him be

it goes on like this for an hour
or nearly so
not pronounced dead
until the white sheet
in the emergency room

was that for us
was that for you
maybe for them
still unsure

I kissed your cheek
not entirely unwarm
you look good dad

not dead
not cold
just quiet