I heard the author of this poem read it at an open mic, and it haunted me, this haunting. It’s a dream poem, but ghostly. I think it’s the sounds heard in the poem that haunted me, the creak of oars, the voice, and also the inability to see, that straining that is a part … Continue reading of trout or perch, gone before I could relish

One of the trails I frequent in the winter holds its history, it seems: the ravages of old big water coursing, of the sharp edges of glaciers arriving, receding, of rock heaved up, stones hurled down, transformed now into a narrow valley and a lively stream opening out into punctuations of marshes ringed by hills. … Continue reading The field remembers

I think often about misogyny. I mean, not a day of perusing the headlines goes by without it staring me in the face. Its face varying to great degrees, from the benign smile of a fashion article touting some new ridiculousness aimed at the ubiquitous male gaze, to the everyday dismissals of men-only leadership cabinets … Continue reading born inside a plum blossom, raised by wolves. Never the usual mess,