On the threshold of your throne room
where the hills meet the plain,
there, enveloped in the safety
of your stronghold once again

where the stones sing your praises,
and the grasses wave and sway,
wrapped cocoon-like in a vault
in the heat of the day 

with clamped hands on our mouths
in the...

Seven, twelve and seven
  leftovers, broken pieces,
    tumbled on the ground
      enough, more than enough

crumbs off the loaf
  built into sanctuary
    stone upon stone
      enough, more than enough

 standing on the threshold
 ...

Even as a child I knew the value of a holy place.  When I was given a Bible in third grade, I took it behind a shrub at the corner of our suburban home and set up a makeshift cross that only I could access. 

Last April, as Notre Dame burned, I witnessed the shock and sorrow of the...

With plaintive voice the poet sings her songs,
One morning glory roused to greet the sun,
Untwisting with the light and pushing on
The gloom with clarion diction that belongs

To those with eyes to see.  Imbibe like dregs
of poison, or instead ignore the deep
And downness of the color and perceive...

As a young girl, I had free-rein in my neighborhood.  There were no fences around backyards, and all the kids would roam from house to house at will.  But we had to be ever vigilant to our mothers’ calls.  One day, my mother called and called and called for me.  I...

In the pit of my stomach,
in my heart there's a hole,
an ache,
a fear that I've missed the mark.

                             .

 To rest in Beulah
'til...

Oh, Everett!  Forever for Everett I am!
I can't get enough of the touch of your hand.
Becoming our youngest resident present,
Everett, I find you incessantly pleasant.

Oh, Everett!  Forever for Everett am I!
Forever!  My love is an endless supply.
Eternally gaga, your Lala I am.
...

Fingers and Toes

Knit within your mother’s womb,
   wee bobbin of wooly yarn,
known but unknown until today,
  we welcome you, sweet little bairn.

From the coziest depths near your
   mother's heart forcefully propelled,
a blanket of warming arms
   awaits your...

As an adolescent I hated my feet.  I don’t know why.  Probably because I was a teenager.  I needed a place to hang a plethora of insecurities, so why not put them on my feet?  I wouldn’t even wear sandals in the summertime. 

But as I’ve aged,...

A burst of painted ladies
flit and fly around my head
carried by the vernal breeze
or violent Tehuano winds

on their migration from el sur,
twirling their colorful skirts,
pinwheels of iridescence,
in a manic Flamenco dance.

I do not have a net to catch them
(thank God!) or pin them to
a wall for my good...