Sunday, April 14, 2013

On the Banks of the Knife River

                                      I fell in love with a man while watching him lace his leather boots

                                      left my phone number in pencil on the wood outside his door

                                      Years later he called me from his tepee on the banks of the Knife River

                                      where he slept among the cottonwoods

                                      In the fall he returned with a piece of flint / warm as the sun

                                      and placed it in my open hand


My reading of this poem on public radio KAXE:

No attribution available for the photograph.


  1. wow ... brilliant ... just brilliant ... you are elevating micropoetry to art ... and this image is perfect ...

    1. My turn to say 'WOW.' Thank you so much. It's so fun when I find just the right image...

  2. Replies
    1. I'm so glad you're enjoying this. I love to read your comments.

  3. Having lived in a tipi for two years this struck me. Although winters kept friends away it was a wonderful lifestyle.

    The rhythm of this is exquisite. I especially like the years later part. Gotta admit I never knew anyone who had a telephone in a tipi, it must have been a more modern set up than I was used to. Pretty funny though!

    1. Well, he stayed for one long summer and called on a cell phone that he charged with a small solar panel set-up ... seriously.

  4. Replies
    1. Yes! It's such a good feeling, rubbing that stone, and it's been worked ... which makes it even more special. I'm so glad you commented, Greg.

  5. Great writing! That's a novel in 68 words.


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