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Professor Plum Delivers His Last Advice on Expectations in the Workplace (Some Notes): In twenty-four minutes the world could end up missing and yet begin again a million times. There's only one lesson to be learned on this globe. Power corrupts. It…
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I saw the little family that lives
under the neighbor's backyard deck
two weeks before while decapitating grasslets
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A poem about one iconic aspect of my experience growing up on the U.S.-Mexico border. This poem first appeared in Rattle #30.
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In the night, a several-hundred-pound Black Bear scaled our neighbor’s back fence, bounded down the gravel footpath between our houses and, confused by the people and lights, followed his instincts up a large pine tree across the street...
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. . . hands before your face, heart without blood . . .
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I trusted oceans, moon in the water, and praises lost in the wind’s throat, before the world made good its promise
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“What is the essence of time in mind’s eye?”
The old man turned to me and answered.
‘I lived my life filled with patience.
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You were just another stupid cute teenaged girl
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You are modern child, age 48. You wear a modern child's uniform—indoor soccer shoes, headphones and handheld video game. Your hair sprouts like cauliflower, a mass of gray. Your beard is salt and pepper, and hands are worn. Thumbs are broke skin and jaw is slack.…
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First SeenI think I tried the crossword puzzle first,gave up, turned on the air, had Chex® and popthat didn't do enough to quench my thirst.My stomach turned as we began to dropand I rushed to belt in and sit straight, dryas twine, and just as taut. Man, I was tight!I was…
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For Mother's Day 2005I plop upon the bed. My foot is sore.You change into your jams and grab a book.We settle in. A scratching at the doorand I stand, let the cat in, and head backto bed. I settle in. We don't have waters.You rise and bring your glass around the bedand take…
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First off, the tree is crooked. Down I goto struggle with four sappy, rusty screwsthat will not budge. Outside, the dusky snowcollects upon the porch. My daughter chewsa clear bulb, disembodied from its string.“Do you want glass inside your mouth?” I…
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the savage weather of his story
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IN THE QUIET TIME Forgiveness and forgetfulness are words I sometimes think have worth to just the dead; Though envy creeps, I grudge no man's rewards: There lie no guilt-edged thoughts against my head. The funeral march bears off, away from mind, The petty…
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