Fiction & Poetry

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“meaning, in every snowflake,” says the blue bird

Nobody knows how many black holes are in space, but studies have linked living to dying.

I didn’t go to high school.
I stayed with the janitor instead.
He kept me in the boiler room.
I was a kind of pet, I guess.

Dear Grasshopper, I’m glad I wasn’t born a cow.

Somehow we were always expecting something like this, a strange wind off the Atlantic, moaning and cursing and full of old hurts,

Imagine that the bucolic picnic –
Which you happen serendipitously upon
Once you begin your walk in the woods –
Is actually a disaster:

Suddenly, no one believes we walked on the moon.

Is it still winter where you are? Do you have a dancing monkey to help you get through it?

It is a thankless job.

the waning moon is
soaking into the grass outside
hidden under my desk leaving the room lit
with a shade of twilight sparkle