Doing the Math



And so we wait,

Wind crunching numbers

Multiplying grievance, dividing winter

Days into fragmented ticks of a frozen clock.

In addition, only the sum total counts;

But the square root of snow

Is a water molecule,

And so we wait.

The Star at the Top of the Tree

potentilla frost


O Morning Star,

You who fell from heaven

to take on flu and scars and walk

within weather and time and disappointment,

illuminate this frigid Dark that consumes my blighted soul,

that I might be released into my Destiny, to relay Your reflection as

moon to your sun, declaring brilliance in my lineage, decorating Your tree.




Her Spines as She Sways




as she sways

to her own rhythm

hold a deadly, beautiful poison

for all who may incautiously approach;

mesmerized, her victims enter

to taste of her wares,

not sensing





Butter might not melt in that mealy mouth,

but potent fructose clogs the arteries

of every syrup-laden missive.

She seems not to notice

that her sticky-notes

are attracting



Peony buds leaking sweet ‘sap’ that draws ants to the picnic…

The Closet


She smiles,

a slow, careful smile

that curdles on top like bad milk,

a skin freezing in increments over troubled

waters.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says

to the accompaniment of the skeletons doing a jig in her coat closet.