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Four Weeks In

If I had only knownThree days was nothingFour weeks now notched on my belt of motherhoodFour weeks with a sick child, one at a time, usually on ThursdaysFalling not like dominoes but like patient drops from the tip of a stalactite J.D. Fitzgerald’s mother was...

Limericks for TJ

For Tennyson, who says it isn’t a real poem unless it rhymes. There was once a 9-year-old kidWhose stomach decided to ridItself of its contentsUnder the pretenseOf denying itself, so it did. There once was a boy fair and jollyWho snuck a lick of his friend’s lollyBut...

Haiku

Spring Couple Welcome strangerShy with uncertain hopeLeaves unfurl shining, wary Summer Couple Rosy plump and lavishFruit drops from heavy branchesLove thick and close Autumn Couple Conversation cools then slowsDeath comes leaf by leafWord by word Winter Couple Slip...

Stream of Consciousness

tonight I read a poem and thought it was beautiful and had so much heart and then I learned the author was a man and I was shocked and I knew I had read the voice as belonging to a woman and it somehow made a difference though I’m not sure why and I signed up for his...

Song of Myself

I used to read poetry curled up in a comfy chair, sipping tea, just Walt Whitman and me. Now I read it in the dining room on my laptop, while Ken fixes dinner and the boys watch football and sound barbaric yawps and Geneva clomps around in my shoes and drops her bread...