Small piles of

Sand              dirt                  gravel

In little piles on the floor

Souvenirs from the day’s digging

Emptied from shoes


A dusting of cinnamon sugar

And toast crumbs beneath the table

Scraps of paper

Misplaced scissors

Damp towels in defeated heaps


Coffee cups

Brown sliver-moon stains

In circles of white porcelain

Beer glasses

A delicate webbing of dried foam

Engraving a ring in the glass


Riffles spreading in the wake

Of boats at sea



When Ronan is at school

Oliver likes to track down

His treasured and forbidden items


A blue pickup truck

From a box of Hot Wheels

That are

Not For Sharing


Oliver holds it in his hand

There is a glint in his eye

And a smile playing on his lips

Should I throw it?

He asks

Mirror lake

I have to get back

To that perfectly round lake

Icy and clear

Still enough

That it is like

A hand mirror

To the sky


And to the mountains

Adorned in tatters of snow

Whose pale rock

Stares down upon it

Rosy and blushing

At sunset



Orbit around it

And stars

Coolly twinkling

Whirl themselves

Through the night

In their pleasure

The village

It’s getting tribal in the kids’ pioneer village

Different factions

Claiming different faded timber houses

Stockpiling dented tin pots

Cups and mismatched lids

Posting sentries in the narrow doorways

To prevent looting


At one house

The younger kids

Heedless of the value of their wares

Are chucking precious pans

Out a back window

Just to see little puffs of dust

Rising from below

Others scramble to claim them

Stowing them in lofts and chimneys



The only buildings

Unoccupied by the children

Are the compact red schoolhouse

And the church

With its tall arched windows

And scripture written in pen

Scrawled across the walls

Two things

She’s the source of some attention

The girl with only

Two things in her lunch


Her neighbor calls me over

She only has

Two things for lunch!

She says

Which is exotic

In the midst

Of all the containers

Neatly trimmed vegetables

Organic fruit

Cheese and nuts and whole grains

In separate little compartments


The owner of

The two things

A peanut butter sandwich

And miniature box of raisins

Is nonplussed

And eating with gusto


I want to ask this girl

Her mother’s name

So I can find her on the playground

Some time at pickup

And congratulate her on having a life

A sense of perspective

To ask

If maybe

We could be friends


It was one of those storms that came

When you couldn’t quite enjoy it

Off and on

Between midnight and 3 am

The clatter of heavy rain on the roof

The long rumble of thunder

Rolling across the flat land

With nothing to stop it


It was when all was quiet

Just the slow drips from the eaves

When it happened

A house-shaking




You felt it in your guts

It was like God

Had reached his fist through the clouds

To sock this little piece of land

It was an angry blow

Meant to hurt

And it was so surprising

I had to reach out


As for what he was angry about


That could have been anything

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑