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Earthworms emerge, splayed
across sidewalks, tender skin
snags on rough concrete.
Dog is lagging yet
clear skies pale green leaves urge me
to linger longer.
Who will you be, and
from where? What will have brought you
here – mere chance or choice?
He tours in a case
like an aged Ken, “mint in box”
they’d say on eBay.
Rake leaves left over
from fall. Clean porch furniture.
Spring into action.
A romantic name
for a seagull poop splashed walk
among spray and rocks.
A schoolteacher in
a barrel did what no man
could – lived to tell it.
Where river meets lake
we stand as Toronto gleams
across the waters.
Yet I sit up wide
awake in this country inn,
jumping at each creak.
Our waitress admits
the town has its share of ghosts.
We sleep with lights on.
Riverside village
quaint without self-consciousness,
where arts mix with charm.
Just water on rock.
And yet, sheer power compels
visitors to gape.
She curls around the
baby like a spiral shell
protecting its snail.
At a diner it’s
normal, but at home pancakes
seems so decadent.
An unexpected
crocus emerges, smiling
from a brown leaf pile.
Florida is the
cheese at the end of the maze
known as air travel.
My weirdness is as
apparent in my kids as
streaks in a fake tan.
Like cows with their cud
we would chew constantly, and
then we’d all swallow.
One piece would last for
hours and have few calories.
(I’m working on it.)
From a Revealing
start to this auspicious point -
my life in short form.
In wordless despair
M dissolves in tears clutching
me like a life vest.
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