Sixty years of photographs Some black and white Some Polaroid Some from “smart” phones, Put on cups and calendars, By our children, grandchildren And smiles in every one Nobody knows about the bad times The unseen photographs, and the ones not taken The miscarriages, the labor pains The cancer we caught early, but…

No sleep

In 2020, you said it was just the flu. In 2021, you said it wasn’t really a coup. In 2022, you said let’s just use the nukes. In 2023, will we still be?

The machine never stops. It chews me up But never spits me out No matter how much I ask. If I could go back I wouldn’t change it all. I would hardly change a thing. I would tell you I loved you The day you died. That’s all.

Looking in the mirror I see my self But not myself I barely notice the changes The gray hairs The wrinkles The scars The impatience The yelling The lack of empathy The inability to stand up for what’s right Did I ever really know me? Was I always so weak? Did I hide in a shell And pretend I was meek? Does the butterfly remember Who the caterpillar was? Does the child in me know What the world does?

As a nine-year-old in Suburban Minneapolis, watching the Challenger explode on the TV in our third-grade classroom was devastating. I’ll always remember Tuesday, January 28, 1986, as the only day I ever watched one of my teachers cry. I was too shocked and confused to follow suit. Don’t get me…

…are funny things

Five minutes after It was already too late But that’s when I knew The turn of the screw The whistle of the tea kettle Then rigid silence Anger, punishment Screaming, literal torture A fist in the wall Nothing I could do But venture out on my own And never come back

Lemon-yellow chaos Driving through the snow Aquamarine and elemental Several octaves below A crack, a crash A terrorizing splash A hamstring hurl And sudden window smash Unclick, be quick Grab the sidekick Push her out first Then do a dolphin kick The wind is calm The sun is bright Pray another car Comes by before the night Layers of brisk and bleak Biting the limbs at their peak The bronchial sting, the halo of frost Shiny condensate mystique