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Cut It Down

Instead I limbed the dying leaves and branches. I painted it yellow to catch the sunlight, red to fill the gash infuriating the trunk where decay had set in. I kept what I could. All ribs and spine, chalice of…

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Bats

The world of Sandra Myers Rothenberg's stunning bat photographs meets Bach's First Partita and Julia Wendell's poem, "Vampire."

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Carnaval

My glittering grandmother, Helen Temple, was a London stage actress and singer during World War I. She was first known for her roles in a variety of Shakespeare plays, then in Galsworthy’s Fugitive and The Skin Game. She played Regina…

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San Francisco Mourning

I’m old enough to remember the day Kennedy was shot. Also blurry Neil Armstrong’s echoing, static-y words amped all the way from the Moon. I was pinned up against a playground chain link fence when we heard that our President…

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New Interview

I had the pleasure of being interviewed by Linda Michel-Cassidy for Why There Are Words. Many thanks to Linda, and to Peg Alford Pursell for graciously hosting John, Barrett, and me at the Why Are There Words series in Sausalito last month.  …

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My Mother’s Handwriting

Individual as DNA, it spoke to me from fridge notes, Christmas tags, and report cards I took back to school, with her hurried scrawl at the bottom. Even now, the ache when I find her half-cursive, half-print, as unique as…

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Drive-By

Wisteria hangs in great dollops from the treetops, the faint purple drapery escorting me to Aiken and Camden, Bethune and Rockingham, its aerial artistry choking the tallest pines. Driving through the Carolinas on a lavender road I’ve navigated for years…

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While You Sleep

Still hunkered at my desk, as if to stop the night sky brightening, the Leylands lifting from their winter canvas, pastures, singed with frost. Night is like a holiday, I can do anything I want with it— unlike the day’s…

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