It’s the sound of a bird’s cheerful
chirps coming from the cattails,

and a mournful cry
from another hidden one.

It’s the unmistakable
quack of city park ducks,

and the angry screech
of a car speeding around

the sculpture garden.
The silent stares

of turkeys hanging
around the unfinished trail

I sneak onto. And the call
and response of geese

as they swim in the lake.
It’s the surface

quiet of woolly bear caterpillars
centimetering along,

and the leaves that scratch
the sidewalk in a warm breeze.

It’s the true hush

of a dead woolly bear
on the pavement.

And the silence of drained
pools now that they’ve shut

down the fountain for the winter
to come. The stridulation

of late-season crickets
marks the morning.

And you, dawn,
I swear I can hear the ocean

in your breath.

I am honored and excited to have my poem “The Oar Interferes” published in Issue 22 of Consilience Journal. The theme for the issue is “Waves.”

Please check it out here.

You can also hear a recording of the poem here.

The way that ash tree in Loring Park
becomes the first

to release

its yellow leaves. Let
the breeze save you.

Imagine it’s raining. Be grateful
for the scattered clouds,

and pay your respects (choking
up) to the dead toads on the trail.

Bless the morning crickets
come September.

Let go of the disgust
you feel for the residue

of salt and gnat carcasses
on your arms and legs.

Instead, praise the spider
that has spun her web

between slats
of a white picket fence.

Savor the moment you realize
no motorboats disturb the lake.

I’m excited to have my poem “Relief” published in the latest issue of Tangled Locks Journal.

to ask the fog
to stay
just a little longer

to remember
those underwater kisses
or to spell her

name backwards
with a cracked divining rod
in the sand

and to keep it
a secret when it breaks
open

With ducks
on the water,
you wouldn’t drain the lake
through a scupper, or burn it down,
would you?

You wish you could see inside a corner
mailbox to confirm empty

or full. Exposed
tree roots haunt you. A stretch

of new sidewalk slabs guides you
forward. A picnic table in the sand

at Hidden Beach tells no tales.
Ducks swimming in the lake

go the distance. Almost midnight
rocks scattered across a tree lawn

form a secret riprap
in your mind. Wild

asparagus grows out of control
in a ditch. Pink chalk marks

the edge of the moment.
A bird bath is not

a bird bath at all. Another
optical illusion wins.

Pain becomes you.
You become euphoria.

Bumble bees sonicate
a side garden with abandon.

Loyal saints appear
when you least expect them.

A freshly chalked empty
soccer field reminds you of being

a fierce girl. You climb
the park hillside without slipping

or murmuring “why.”

If only we all wanted
to protect Bassett Creek.

flutter past in pairs. She swears
she can smell seaweed
here where there’s no ocean.
She looks for you beneath
Japanese lilac tree branches.
Another hole in a wall
patched & muffled. Trapped
messages—humid &
hushed—become another herding
of ancient sounds
to overwhelm her
direction forward.

The scent of lilacs in front
of your nose as you sit
on a park bench. The flow of

water

spilling down and down
into each of the seven pools.
The morning breeze breathing

slowly across your arms.
The birds you hear
but don’t see. Trees

everywhere. In fact, every
single tree you’ve ever met.
One brood of ducklings following

their mama into the lake.
And a raft of them
already swimming with theirs.

Spotting a pond
through the woods.
A slight bend

in the trail. The high contrast
between leaf and bark
against the sky. Remembering

to pause long enough
to catch and release
all of this.

The jersey that runner wears.
The shoes of another.

A canoe in the rack.
Dandelions everywhere.

The (yellow) jackets
on the backs

of a man and a woman paddling
a kayak in the channel.

Yield

and dead end
signs. Willow tree

vines that drape over
the lake edge. The house

beside the church—
bells mid-chime.

A row of garage doors.
A rabbit in the pocket

park grass (no, that’s tan
fur). The western arch

on the pedestrian bridge
that shakes hands

with its eastern mirror image.
Your equilibrium sometimes.