Category: Uncategorized
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the color of light
1. there are rainbows in the kitchen sink. I can’t explain them, except to say they appear there from time-to-time just above the slippery wet silver, arched + perfect. today I am self-regarding enough to wonder if the precocious prisms realize I’m here too: do they see or sense me as I see and sense them? their pulsing…
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ars poetica
is not coming in the door from an early morning walk with a paused podcast in your ear about anonymous people’s experiences with paranormal activity and leaving a voice memo for your sister-cousin because she’s clairvoyant and needs to listen to this last story about the woman who brought spirits home with her from Vietnam…
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lean to
like the backs of your hands I know these woods have lived them an acre each of the days before overstanding fundamentally what is amiss, at stake your hands frames of fine art their palms; a steady, silken roadmap I study to forget what I know (I am the lean-to and the wooded forest that…
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(more) september
9.4 today glorious gladiolus bloom and droop bloom and droop 9.5 today two sunflowers one yellow with a ring of pink the other maroon; a ring of autumn 9.6 today the moon, just a sliver 9.7 today webs spider and cob the distance between life & death about these poems September continues and I am…
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september signs of life
9.1 today tiny wild blueberries (and butter!) everywhere 9.2 today the first and the second pumpkin two sugars 9.3 today summer begins to fade about this writing september marks the beginning of the sixth month of my signs of life project! each day I write a one…
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the forsythia
I can remember them well but only just barely how the large bushes kept and clustered themselves into squat hollow half-trees along that chain-linked fence. their breaching buds yellow (of course) felt forgotten or just maybe fabricated drops of divinity sown right there into plain sight. no one stopped to be with them noticed they…
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august compost
it’s the black bucket, perch beside the deep silver sink who summons me today. teeming now it began its quest for emptiness yesterday – the soft relentless whisper coming from beneath the heaped seedy tomato pulp and all those black, run-thru coffee grinds. in summer things move more slowly around here- in preparation of the quicken…
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sandra
we belong to our mothers before we ever belong to ourselves and so, my story begins as all children’s stories do- with her story she was born to Amelia Lopes and John Santos of Stonington, Connecticut on Sunday April 4,1954 her given name; Sandra Lopes Santos the last child and only daughter born…
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july 7th
your ex best wife’s friend bare feet finally I like you better now the rain, like that first night of course, you would remember that he missed you like something was left unsaid like someone was trying to say something worth saying my life’s been good, honest and still fitfully, I remember you- miss your…
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notes to nowhere
about this work feeling very grateful for last week’s writing prompt: “find some notes” (these were in my notes app), “rewriting is writing”, “stay close to yourself”. I love how seemingly random these notes looked and the surprise of how connected they really are as a piece of writing, experienced through the act of writing…
santos scribes 