No explanation
necessary. Introverts
go to parties
willingly. Sip
ice water and talk
about moving, spitting
images, where to buy
parkas, breaking
glass. Sip more
and slip out the only
door before
fireworks take
over the sky.

Another Friend Who Misses Her Dad

Her quiet presence
looms long
and lean—a shadow

cast nearing civil
twilight. Forty years
since she’s stood

before or beside
me, and still
I remember her

long hair the color
of unground coffee
beans. Her bangs. The fresh

laundered scent
she would leave behind
as she rode off on

her banana seat
bicycle through those wooded trails
behind our row

of houses. Some whispers
echo longer
into silver brilliance

than any shrill yelp
of a peacock at large.


The color
pink speaks out

of turn, interrupts red

with a white streak
of thought

grenades. It rains.
Lightning decorates

the lilac sky. Waiting
for a serious dose

of thunder—there is
no blue.

Twelfth of Never Mind

Always gives
her pause. She starts
and stops love
affairs on summer ones. That young
man who touches her
hair and cheek
in a dream she had
on this month’s 12th
has nothing
to do with her
imagination. And the green fairy
isn’t always green. She knows this
without taking a sip.

Could Have Been Foss

She might become a square foot
gardener. Her beds

raised and compact, she tends
to her slopes

as intensely as she used to
roll down them.

No One Can Claim Me

Was that you
who almost ran
over me

with your bicycle
wheeling down France?

Were you thinking
of hitting me? I get lost

in the suburbs
on warm weekend afternoons
when no one’s

looking. Did you realize
you might be touching
the unclaimed?