At the dead end of our streetweather broke what would not bend,forced down a tall oak, never againto grow. It fell the day I first bled.Some girls come of age alonein a tribal menstrual hut. Otherswhisper their secret to a friend.I clambered up, arms wide, and walkedthat balance beam, dirty, exposed rootsto smashed branches. Then…

I pray not to forget againthe nouns around me, as flatas busted party balloonsafter the last guest leaves,leaving plates caked with frostingbut not a word of thanks.Syllables leave their day jobs,jangle like a toy marimba,dance like drunken monkeys.Stick a pin in an onion,form an opinion.

My first year married I brought to the feast a barely-there pumpkin pie, tendered it to the aunts, who could, every one, build a pie rich and thick, pie with attitude. Seven months pregnant, I was not much fun in my big brown dress. Why not scarlet or sky blue? Why not more eggs in…

On a stolen piece of high desert by a man-made lake, planted shade trees, cleared mostly of coyotes and king snakes, we take pride in a bird feeder on a patio and impound our cat indoors. At sunset birds come against cotton-wool clouds backlit easing their way east. Plants watered after a hot day and…

It’s an overloaded planet, and our excesses insult it, a weight it cannot carry, the wheels falling off, the spokes cracked. We might need to confine our selves to one carry-on bag, a cup, and bamboo begging bowl, a spoon, one blank book, pencil, and one change of clothes, no room for guns, knives, cudgels,…