Almost Winter
published in bitterzoet magazine 

It’s November again
and eight years since I learned to pray
in a different way--
to the sun,
carpet and a space heater,
familiar shivers in my spine.

Scarves that smell like last winter
even though last winter was lonely
and the winter before that

and the winter before that
even when there was someone else.

A squirrel has been near my window
all week gathering food.
Storing nuts to hide for later,
a pile enough for two,

knowing he’s never going to share it. 

Collaboration with John Lujan for We Are Juxt 

He breathes deeply, walking the airports in between two places. Traveling the ushering lines of the clearly marked depart or arrive. Please watch your step. Walkway ends soon. Gates close, but walkways continue to go. The routines and boundaries of an undemanding world. He could live there, pulling his clothes and shoes behind him. He could live there, easily knowing which direction is home

PUblished on Press 53 tumblr

They were free, so I cannot complain. Donated. I used to wear gloves and sleep in a bed and drive a car and now my son’s school gives us clothes. He won’t hold my hand or wave when I wear them. Says, “It’s weird, Mom.” When I feel desolate, I blame the mittens.