I woman, mother, writer, friend AM breathe in, breathe out, foot down, grab hand NOT
written for my dear friend and extraordinary artist, D Whigham THE POTTER The wheel spins. She throws heavy clay, imagining. Her hands move quickly, forming the moments of life for the fire and the flame.
In the monotony of our snowy February, I received a poetry prompt: write about first love. In spite of the looming holiday, I was quite unsentimental. Until, that is, I watched the birds outside my dining room window, who sacrificed themselves for the chance of wild flight. Here is a eulogy for the wild winged… Read More