it is a ponderous thing

can’t believe I miss that damn roar
Vito with my kiddies 2005


Ice Mountains

I sometimes, well who am I kidding, I often reread my words thinking exactly that
what am I thinking
what am I trying to get at
I don’t appreciate the kind decades
generous, in fact
as I’ve had them
to write angst when I’m happy
create euphoria when I’m blue
mold dream sequences I dare not live
in both words and colored shapes
often content in my ability
to be discontent
the excuse
the “creative” mind or spirit
instead, the reality
human with the privilege of life
I write this with the clarity of a gorgeous sunup
and a cool affirming breeze wrapping my fingers
now set upon my pricey laptop

the local paper this morning
a continuation of an accident report
three died in a nearby town
driver’s ed car and a tractor
an intersection
two at the scene
one this morning

beyond grief
is loss
young loss
beyond that

turn the page
ice mountains high as the Rockies
chasms six times deeper than the Grand Cranyon
Pluto artfully sculpted

may these young souls
touch beyond ice mountains
their vibrant spirits
forever reside
in the living
with the privilege
to do so

hearts out to them
families, friends…
wood hole nymphwoodhole nymph breaking from birch tree bark
created over the last three days – mixed media

reconciling living and after-living

the corners of his mouth are whispering hymnals
he carried her body beyond its limits
heaved her form, not more than the weight of pencils
with such delicate care, as one might if shaping glass swans by focused flame
he’s imagining living alone in the home they nurtured like a precious child

just out of reach, a white sandal with silver clasps waits under the bed
he’ll grab a hanger from the empty side of the closet
to hook the lanky strap

worn but spotless, the sandal dangles from his shaking fingers
salt and sea blow so hard that his tears cascade into foaming waves
the sandal drops to the floor, he is wrecked
the strap has curved almost perfectly
he smiles at this, then draws in deep
the lemon and mint scent of her breath
almond-shaped fingernails round his shoulder
she wipes his tears
where the ocean curves like the strap of a sandal and water runs like the trickle of tears
she will be waiting
to lift him when he can no longer walk
pear fingersdrawing done to show one of my art student’s how fun fruit can be, summer 2013