Day with Grace

Poetry

  • Falling Leaves

    Sympathizing Spring: vibrant, viable, and life-affirming in verdancing leaves – leaves that stay, and if sometimes one falls, a fanning branch fawning before the sun, or a kernel thrown down from the tight claw of a creature enraged in the… Continue reading

  • Martha Song

    Every woman I have ever knownhas been a Mary and a Martha,though every preacher I ever heardmight make you thinkshe could only ever be one.That Christ only saw one,when He told me how He loves— read also, is Himself honored… Continue reading

  • Bear Baiting

    An enigmatic compliment for an imaginative child:She’ll be beating the boys away with a stickand visions of bear-baiting dance in her headbecause the words feel more like the pointed jabsthan does she feel on the offensive,like the bear asked to… Continue reading

  • Her-Frame

    I saw the Spirit walking in her framewhen I was but a “skin-flask in smoke.”The walls yet boards and cut-outsof the still-frame life still “yet-to-be.”She, actively, balancing on scaffolding,the vision of my “future-self,”beautiful on-high. And I, sad,a draft-on-paper-bones looking longinglyto… Continue reading

  • Corners

    I hide around the cornersto counteract the sound,that final missing clickthat signals I am naught.Corners that will not catchme in the throatlike coming to the grave middle piece Empty-handed. They’re all but made of peace,being already solved, sit cornered.I hide… Continue reading

  • Umber-Ella

    When the cold front caught us unawares,we were wearing t-shirts,outsmarting puddles in the Supergarciaparking lot, gigglingbecause we got out without the kidsfor once, and in a hurry dartedinto town for burgers. Wishthey had something to wearover regular clothes to keep… Continue reading

  • The Least

    Of anything a soul could willmine the worst of all.Of anything a mind could fathom,all others be appalled.Of anything a hand could do,to that end my fingers fly.If there is one sinner in the world,it is only I. Of any… Continue reading

  • The Bread

    The bread that comes out of me feeds my familyI use the starter my mother madeFrom pungent placenta that clung to the jar.From a culture of residue and detritusIs born a sticky, wet dough steaming hotterthan the air around it.… Continue reading