... below my kitchen window
... rubs his antlers on an empty apple tree
Painting: Jeanie Tomanek
... rubs his antlers on an empty apple tree
Painting: Jeanie Tomanek
I hold it in my palm
feel the potter's presence
Photographer Unknown
I don't know why they've made me so happy
I can't stop smiling
Photographer Unknown
between the apple tree that's almost deadand the remains of the ramshackle shed
my mother's righteous golden glow
Your note to him on the back
He handed it to me on your front porch
The summer before he died
Insisted I have it
Now you're gone too
And the photo?
It's where it was meant to be
I think he knew that when he gave it to me
a red winged blackbird flits from reed to reed
... and as I carried it to the house it talked to me
... told me it didn't want to be in my collection on the porch
... but with those inside the house / on my bookshelf
... where it now quietly resides
Photograph by Peter James
a poem that begins with grandmothers
ringing the necks of chickens
and ends with sir isaac newton
sitting on a bed
I realize I'd skipped a page
read two poems as one
and that my friends is poetry
sometimes you end up
in a place wholly unexpected
Art by Rodney Hatfield
some days you'd call just to share something
a poem, a song, a story from your childhood
the atacama desert's annual rainfall
there are days I still drive down my road
wondering if you've called
your message blinking out into the universe
... beyond the ice broken river ... coyotes
... songs of spring
Photographer unknown
... I hope they know how much I love them
Image: Polina Washington