The Work of a Rose

      The work seems invisible now. But just yesterday, Mom called me on the phone.  The news was bad: grandpa was in the hospital again.  He’s strong, but it’s unlikely this time.  For a year I watched over my grandpa’s farm. But Mom’s been showing up this whole time as one of the…

A Run Down Beuhler’s Hill

        I don’t know where it comes from, that empathic or intutitive connection to the other worlds.  Do witches and seers just happen like an oddity, by chance and without reason within a narrative? I’m not necessarily calling myself a witch, maybe witchy, at times but I have been curious.  My dear…

The Corgi

To my dear sister fighting cancer.  This was a poem for her birthday. How often do people stick their face in yours to ask, what it must be like, as they coddle you and call it affection—do they know? your short comings have never stopped you from coming as far as you have. And, anyways,…