[a sign by the roadside. . .]

a sign

by the roadside

found bird—

carefully I check

the locks on my heart

Ribbons 8:2, Fall 2012

[in my freezer]

the birds

in my freezer:

grosbeak,

blue jay, indigo bunting , . . .

my secret stash of sky

Atlas Poetica 13, Fall 2012

[twenty children. . .] and [war . . .]

twenty

children murdered

close to home

the dark of the moon

so clear tonight

Haiku News 2:4, 1/21/2013

war—

the children’s

red crayons

worn down

to nothing

Ribbons  8:3, winter 2012 

I post these poems today in honor of the three-month anniversary of the shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, not far from where I grew up. As a parent and grandparent, and as the mother of a survivor of gun violence, I often wonder about--and grieve for--the deep roots of violence of all kinds in human societies. 

Anasazi

a shadow passes

over the ruin’s face

raven

rising up canyon walls

toward the Old Ones’ eyrie

descending

the kiva ladder

my wish

to enter the spirit hole

still deeper into the earth

drifting up

a thousand feet

the echo

of a flute-player

carved in stone

a sun dagger

pierces the spiral

written in rock

our deepest desire

to grasp what flows

rain

never touching

the earth

among the grave goods

a pot of ancient chocolate

due north

toward origins

the road ends

in shattered pottery

clay returns to earth

Atlas Poetica 13,  Fall 2012

This tanka sequence emerged from a trip to Ancestral Puebloan (Anasazi) sacred sites in the Four Corners region of the southwestern United States.  The archaeological sites, located in Colorado, Utah, Arizona, and New Mexico, included Mesa Verde, Hovenweep, Canyon de Chelly, Chaco Canyon, Salmon Ruins, and Aztec Ruins.

[small stones . . .]

small stones

skip across the water

trailing glints of light

our footprints

on the riverbank

A Hundred Gourds 2:1,  December 2012