Grandgirl, you are in my bed now, and in all of it. You are horizontal and your soccer feet are planted like oaks on the far...

Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving My mother framed the Rockwell painting. That image of matriarch in white apron setting down white platter with turkey large enough to feed all the smiling...

Awakening in Poesy Town This morning I rose from my bed, as if from between the sheets of the New Yorker, the world random as free verse. Today...

Pas de Deux   In our choreography, Dad and I had three types of dance: the shower, the stairs, and the car. The shower’s dance was a slow kabuki-   like...

As if England and Nature were the same, At Williamsburg we imitate by culling Tricorn and lace—it’s Restoration Game! And out we strut, colonialling, Having to mincestep Revolution...

If John Waters Hung Out in Reston He’d live in our townhouse, with the filthiest bathroom alive— a rust hole in the sink so big it’ll...

Minute shards of glass settle upon the bar counter like finely milled powder The barkeep smiles at no one in particular as if born an automaton No warmth offered...

an angel fell asleep on my shoulder last evening, in the train car aswarm with humans who had tumbled in from the city, some drunken with reddish...

I never grew out of cookies and milk I grew in. Someone reflective, not out loud. Even behind the smoke, I saw wheels turn and wondered where had you gone?   Perhaps it...

Doors locked, we hide the keys Jeans frayed across the knees On our backs beneath the stars Basking in an autumn breeze   She spies Polaris, points out Mars They’re...