Daily plans

Things you did:
Fed the dog
Took her out
Bribed her with cookies
To get her in her kennel
Told her how sweet she is
And how much you love her


Things you meant to do:
Call your daughter
Buy cat treats
Get ice melt for steps

Check bills to pay
Collect needed tax forms
2026 IRA deposit

Return library books
Recycle bags at Hy-Vee


On this cold day:
You’d rather meet a friend for coffee
Try that new Thai restaurant
Curl up with a book
And a cup of tea
And your dog

Instead:
You zip up your jacket
Grab your gloves
Your scarf
Your phone

And head out
To lend your body
To bear witness
To show support
To be decent
In the face of indecency 


On the way out
You perform your ritual
Saying at the door
Bye Chiclet
I’ll be back soon

Pulling the door shut
You think fleetingly
If I don’t return
She will never know why
Someone else 
Will see that she’s fed
Will scratch her neck
Behind her ears
Will cry softly
Into her fur

All the things you will never do:
Call your daughter
Buy cat treats
Get ice melt for steps

Check bills to pay
Collect needed tax forms
2026 IRA deposit

Return library books
Recycle bags at Hy-Vee

Truth is:

She will never know
You meant what you said
She’ll just give you
The benefit of the doubt
And wonder if
It will soon
Be soon

But sometimes
Unfortunately 
Soon is never

I want to send a message to my younger self
I want to embed it deeply in her memory
in every cell of her being

I want to tell her

Don’t convince yourself you are not meant to be loved 
Don’t listen to those who say you are not lovable
Don’t settle for the crumbs offered for your life

Ask yourself why they are so invested
not in you but in painting you as terrible
or telling you all the things you do wrong

How you should or should not speak 
How you should or should not feel
How you should or should not be 

Don’t let someone else decide who you should be
or how you should exist in this challenging world
or whether you matter 

Don’t let them help you feel less than
Don’t accept their lack of respect
You are enough as you are

In this or any other life
you deserve to feel really seen
you are allowed to claim space 

I would tell her that when the sun sets
it is worth turning the lights on
even if only for herself

I would beg her not to sacrifice herself on the altar
of someone else’s sad insecurities
but to be generous also to herself

and remind her that if she is not seen
she can move to where the light is
or she can generate her own 

I would hope she knows that a good-natured laugh
is as important as empathy for a scarred world
and that both keep us sane

I would say

You are allowed to try for happiness
however you define it for yourself
as long as you are kind

and that honoring a commitment
that was long ago broken or disregarded 
is not honorable - it is delusion

I would say again and again

You are worth more
Learn to believe that
Act on that belief

The line is long outside Emiliana’s shop

It snakes along the stones 
which have seen so much

It forces others to take note -
to ponder if they too should join 
this parade of anticipation

In the window you can watch 
as they make the ice cream -
these vats of velvety goodness
laid out like ribbons on gifts

These wondrous tastes of love and caring
presented as the result of ordinary work

Over and over each day

Simple transactions

Promises kept

Sitting at one of the tables outside
enjoying the sweet coolness 
on a hot day

Seeing moments of joy 
as these creations are savored
by individuals, families, 
old and young

When you fall into bed 
at the end of a long day
do you still recognize 
what a privilege it is

To lighten people’s worry 
for a few moments
of delicious abandon

A return to simple pleasures

Delivered nonstop

Touching people’s lives

Living in their memories

Your hard work 
at times monotonous
turning into cherished moments
of people you have touched
but may never see again

But in that brief interaction 

Just one simple moment

In an otherwise long day

You delivered them joy

Leaves float down
all brown and sere
carpeting the ground
boots treading on them
each crunching step
crushing them to oblivion

So it is in all around us
brown a color of irrelevance
crushed, turned to dust,
trampled underfoot
usefulness unacknowledged
rendition foreordained 

This cruel indifference 
in the face of ugly change
in the disdain of many
in the looking away
in the gratitude it is not us
reflected in the cruelty of time

If we do not see ourselves
made impotent by seasons
passing into deep oblivion
behind our clouded eyes
is it a loss of clear vision
or have we always been blind

Our world view constrained
by a sinister, malevolent myopia
that lets us stroll through fields
of withering hope, coming frost
wrapped in our own comfort
ignoring a predictable future

But winter comes for us all
whether we want it to or not
or try to hold it at bay
or try living shielded from it
it comes for us all eventually
and we die too a little more

Each day, moment, act
of coldness turning us 
from present’s detritus
to the mulch of history
yearning for a spring
we may not live to see

Austere mountains
rise to the sky
fall to the sea
From below little 
seems of value
high up there
Just worthless scrub
begging for rain

Land that teemed 
once with hope
that smelled like olives
fig, quince, cherries - 
then more valuable 
even than wine

In days before leisure
was its own pursuit
travelers were met
given some comfort
through hearty meals 
that reminded of home
that exploited only
what grew in local fields

Now the sea beckons
it could be any sea
the day’s activities
could be anywhere
that they are here
is but an accident

Others chose these spots
for what they offered
a chance to build a life
and feed a family
Closeness to the sea
brought abundant food 
a corollary to land
an alternate way to survive

This accidental marriage
of location and marketing 
blurs what once was alluring
to build a community’s life
now outdoing itself in a race
to satisfy only outsiders

For others seeking
echoes of the past
they could be nowhere
found but here
connecting to a time
and a people 
gone and fading
along with shared history

While the present drops 
down to the earth
swallowed by life
or lack of sustenance
the future becomes
trickier to find

This can be a lovely place
this can be a harsh place 
with little help for small lives
of little consequence
We cannot all be important
yet still we are here
seeking both a past
and a way to a future

Hoping for a chance
begging for small breaks
to sustain small lives
in a harsh unyielding world 

They never back up
They never give way

They live past us
without qualms 
without consideration 
without fear 
     of consequence 
        or of condemnation 
as though we don’t exist
except as remnants
to be discarded

They are unto themselves 
we are but the boulder-pushers 
who make their lives possible 
who enable their comfort
their dominion 
over us

We pay for their lives
with our own 

They take what’s left of our past
to claim as their future
leaving us neither

We will never be them 
they know it  -
so many of us
even if we too 
suspect as much
are loath to admit it

We rode through dark waters
in a small yellow semi-sub 
those ubiquitous tourist traps 
in small towns dotting the Adriatic

<Snorkeling for dummies> 
is what flitted through my mind
All we have to do is sit 
and notice as life washes past

And all we cannot see
that lives below the surface
rises in the quiet spaces
dancing across our vision

And there he was
a tiny octopus
🐙 
not at all vulgar 
as its name now suggests

Just common
ordinary
unassuming
as we all could be

something to strive for 
something we can all achieve
without much effort
or deadly impact on others

hewing to that earlier meaning
eschewing the changes
brought by modern-day
- these vulgarians

Just waving our tentacles
against the truly vulgar
currents of the day

Spreading out our reach
touching others
even just for a moment

in a wave of recognition 
an acknowledgement
of what could still be true

We can be here
simply living
coexisting placidly

in a space big enough for all
in a sea of possibility
in a world we can share

Offering a hint of the sacred
in the ordinary 
as it dances before us

then settles and blends in 
to the rocky underbed 
of our tiny lives



———  

It is a great privilege to experience the world
whether we seek it out 
or it finds us 

The taste of other people’s lives 
can be intoxicating
opening our minds to the possibilities of life

Seeing the individual within the universal
or the universal within the individual

Finding things that are similar 
but not quite the same

Uncovering what looks 
like what you know 
but leaves a subtly different aftertaste

of sweet   bitter  
both
confusing
comforting

making you want to lick the plate clean
just for this experience
which may never come again

How captivating 
to see the familiar 
old yet new
touched

then stored
in memory
pondering the many ways 
to be in life

Like Nepali spinach
plucked from fertile, lush hills
touching down in flat 
mid-America

making itself part 
of an altered vision 
as it finds its way 
to you

awakening the divine
in something unseen before
but
which fills your mind 

now 
with flavors 
and possibilities 
not before encountered

Making you wonder 
as he stands here before you
at the edge of the table

silently hoping you like his food 
what else could be familiar 
yet new

What other tastes are to be had
the pungent elixir catching 
at the back of the throat
signaling a new feeling of home

in the subtle interweaving 
of a thousand moments 
leading to this 
one

through dreams and desires
and memories you didn’t know 
you needed

The look   the feel    the touch 
of past and future
commingling

with a smell of unmet comfort 
like a walk through fallen leaves
or petrichor after rain

or that feel of life 
pulsing in your hand
that sound of satisfaction

A taste
of returning to a place 
you’ve never even been

to the who you were once
when nights could last forever

and a smile could lead you 
to tomorrow

and back to the taste of the unknown known 

and this privilege of communion

Your favorite poet died a few hours ago
You don’t yet know
because you sleep peacefully 
still
I want to tell you so that I can hold you
because I too am feeling untethered
But I am not with you
and besides
I do not want to disturb 
that last peaceful slumber 
before the world tells you
it is so
There will be enough pain
when you wake
on your own

Forced by new rules to sit quietly 
on the grass outside

breeze dancing around us
as I held you close

a blessing really to sit alone 
in a world of stillness 

so much better than sterile rooms
cold metal tables 

In the middle of the pandemic 
you left us

you just couldn’t stay longer
you did the math

After all you catfished us
joining us at age 8 -

advertised as a senior
with just one previous owner

like a used car or a home 
for sale by owner

But that person had no choice
she didn’t want to go

leaving us to pick up the story
hoping for a few years

By 15 even you could see
the trick you’d played -

a shame really because we had
nothing but time then

as the world paused and 
your dream came true 

all day every day together
a lap at the ready

a hand within reach -
the only item on your bucket list

once you ticked that box
what else was there 

Maybe that’s how you saw it
a lifetime dream realized

But for me it was different
it could have gone on

forever

The bookstore is a bit dark
Maybe even a little musty
Calling forth narratives 
Long forgotten

The books lie on the shelves
Some with tattered edges 
Some untouched for years
Tales long untold

Offering themselves up
Waiting to be taken down
Pulled from the shelf
Hoping worn binding 
Is handled gingerly

Not wanting to be judged
For a less than perfect 
Or an aged 
exterior

Each waiting to unveil itself
And unfold the stories
Timeless 
Ageless

Craving the immediacy
Of a tentative touch
From a loving hand
Ready to explore
What lies within

The days grow longer
color bursts all around

Seeds once dormant
push through hard ground

Such beauty lies in May days
mornings awash in birdsong

All proclaiming 
new life is coming

May Day May days
mayday! Mayday!

Days filled with land mines
as I tiptoe carefully through

fields of frozen memory
still wet with morning dew

looking for the rough spots
where tripwires hide in open

daring me to wander
through the beauty

There are such months
such times such memories

Some such days lie scattered 
haphazardly across the year

while others huddle in clusters
calling forth demons en masse

Too many births 
too many deaths

too many days
etched with meaning

back to back to back
spilling forth across years

Watch your step
the weight of memories

is all it takes
for days to implode

rubble piled up so high
everywhere irreparable

sucking the life 
from what remains

Hold your breath
tread carefully

fingers crossed
perhaps this too shall pass

After the surgery
we stand in the kitchen
doing kitcheny things
thankful for normality 

Suddenly my girl
reaches out to me
too young to fully know
too old not to be scared 

She stands silently
hugging me tightly
arms capturing me
head against my chest 

We stay like this a while
my girl who seldom hugs
head on my chest
listening to my heart

This is better now she says
nothing in the way 
I can feel your heart
beating so strong 

Reminding me
to look for the good
telling me that beauty
lies in perspective

Heartbeats louder
than quiet fears
laying down 
a new rhythm 

imploring us
to follow this beat
the syncopation
into a new life 

Discovery 

After the surgery
all insulation gone
nerve endings raw

I could feel the cold water 
moving through my chest

Laying my hand 
on altered landscape 
experimenting

I could feel the warmth 
of the coffee from inside 

Do men feel this too
or is there a barrier 
to such sensation

Is the natural absence 
qualitatively different 
than forced absence 

Searching for silver linings
reveling in small wonders

Taking another sip of cold water
feeling it trickle down so coolly

Fingers tracing the movement
as it slides down slowly

The sensation of hot coffee
like a velvety warmth

Hugging from within
summer breeze exploding

The longing for sensation 
almost unbearable
but still welcome

Like coffee on a cold morning
or cool water on a hot day

Or a feeling of life
returning

They say some cultures
place value on first words
while others read value
in other things such as
the first laugh

In Navajo culture for example
we are told that it brings 
great honor to evoke baby’s
first laugh and create 
a permanent bond

We are not Navajo but
I do know this
I watched my mother 
bond with her granddaughter
at three months old

It was the first time they had met
gathering across thousands of miles
to come face to face in feeling
gazing into each other’s eyes
finding a friend

We were in my old room 
where my father had died 
when I was just gone six 
a room that stood empty
for at least six years after

In her grief my mom stopped 
using this room and moved
instead to sleeping
in the dining room
as her bedroom

When I petitioned to use
this room as mine
my mother rarely entered
calling through the doors
at either end

The largest room
the master bedroom
which had done so much
to show its mastery 
over the whole household

When my grandmother
lay dying in my brother’s room
the only other bedroom
in our small house
it seemed we would lose again

Impossible I thought 
for three people to exist
in such diminished space
my mother must have felt
that same impossibility

One day as I rounded the corner
coming home from a friend
where no spaces 
were off-limits -
a powerful realization -

I saw the ambulance
and froze in fear
as my grandmother 
took her last ride
to the place where she died

Away from us and the house
which had already seen
too much and couldn’t bear
more within its walls
or within our hearts

The last time I saw grandma
was on that stretcher
moving down the stairs
my mother behind her
glancing nervously up the street

She did not see me
standing behind the tree
four houses away
knowing time was past
memories closing behind

Years later it was different
that room had been rescued
from its deep oblivion
caused by my father’s death
my mother’s grief 

As I watched my mom
and my girl lying on my bed
sharing this moment
this smile this full-throated
explosion of joy

In a room that had held such pain
for so many years
it seemed fitting
that this private moment
so small should break the spell

*Inspiration from an interview with Michael Erard, linguist, 
author of Bye bye I love you: the story of our first and last words

Sitting together for hours
as the sun chases shadows 
away

Clock hands move forward 
quickly, slowly, imperceptibly, all at once 

Years peel back lifting the veil 
from now to then to all that fell between

Talk shifts easily from weighty 
to trivial to what remains of the 
day

Should we move on, stay here, 
let time decide these unknown 
wants 

Topics come and topics go, 
questions float up fueled by 
caffeine

Some known, remembered, 
forgotten, unknown - black, white, grey

Fallout of choices made and 
unmade billows up, drifts away, haunts

Yesterday, today, friends 
forever far from where we’ve 
been 

Light fades all too soon as 
these moments and hours give 
way

With never enough time 
in this stillness the clock 
taunts 

Lives different, hearts the same, 
still connected, tomorrow 
unseen

But this day, we had this day

What do we owe the people who inspire us

What do we owe these intersections of our lives

What do we take from someone to carry into our own lives

as metaphor 
as story
as fantasy
as sustenance

If you see yourself in my words
is it you you’re really seeing
or you reflected through me
Do you also see me 

If I borrow something from you
what is expected in return

While in my possession
even for a brief moment
does it not become mine
at least as memory

The way your tousled hair dances across your forehead 
Your hand around the coffee cup
The crinkle at the corners of your eyes 
Your smile across the table

If I carry them into my world
If they insinuate themselves into my brain
If they float forward from memory
whose do they become

If that moment passed by you unnoticed
but planted itself in me
to remain unchanged
whose is it now

What can I claim as mine
What right do I have to any of it

What stories that you tell
become part of me as well

A man passes by the window 
as you sit in a cafe wondering
how you could fit into this life -
his life -
although you have never met

And then you see him
settling into a chair
coffee in one hand
his glasses and book in the other 
placing the cup and glasses on the table
placing the book in his lap
placing himself in your future

You shake your head
and see him now
entering the cafe
buying a coffee
maybe a croissant
taking his place
at this table -
your table - 
at least for this moment yours
settling into your life
until the coffee cools

I’m out there
Buoyed by the salt
Transmuting the pain
Into seasoning for the soul 
Releasing worry to the depths
Where it sinks itself but not me

Floating wordless on blue sea

Water cosseting
Like lover’s caress
Emotion dissipating
Melting itself into liquid
Mixing with the sea’s tears
Steeping raw in this holy sea

Floating wordless under blue sky

Restoring sanity
Accepting memory
Releasing the inessential
Working back through it all
Hoping to emerge refreshed
Recovering a hidden strength

Floating wordless through the blue