Past My Quarantine Window

The black ribbon cracked and cauterized carries them like thirst mouth to throat. Hungry water they trawl strollers dogs bags of to-go food flimsy face masks clutches of mail toward the mouth. They are […]

Levertov’s Mountain is My Mountain

It used to be that all I did and didn’t do took place inside the wide open north-reaching arms of the Mountain. Its invitation drew me all my life to the window, the porch, the yard, the shore to accept or refuse. Many times the Mountain hid in the clouds or the smog or even […]

So Far, I’m Shit at Pandemics

My neighbors behave as though nothing has changed and I suppose for them nothing much has, other than how much space they put between themselves and the low wrought iron fence that separates their yard from the sidewalk where virtually all of the people who live in the barrio stop to chat. Sally still wiggles […]

Barrio Viejo Autumn

When you get up, the street lamps will still be lit. You will put on a jacket and socks (November to May) or not (May to November) and open your door quietly so the bell you hung there does not ring and wake the neighbors you imagine sleep as lightly as you do and who […]