Birdsong

If you give a writer a journal She’ll probably say “thank you”    (exclamation point) And wonder where the nearest pen or pencil is. If she finds said pen, she’ll take to writing    A es a pee. Once she starts writing there’s no telling When she’ll stop—why    THINGS COULD HAPPEN. People would be…

I stroll in  for a ‘few’ groceries at The Hundred Dollar Store, stopping first for what passes for sustenance  (never shop when you’re hungry). The bright-eyed toddler tossed in the air before me while parents wait for pizza, kissed by dad, hugged by mom, she slyly smiles, curling into strong shoulders.   I push away,…

“Samara,” she said and the words took flight in my hearing, invisible windborne flora soaring across my thoughts. She spoke of wings, a divine creation spinning towards earth to plant itself like a stubborn weed-fierce and stuck. Imagination took root, sending me flying home towards Webster’s– ‘some-are-uh’ – and there a black and white drawing…

Twelve minutes after two the blinking red face confirms as I waken wondering, why? I was so very tired and now I am N O T. the pulsing numbers push me back—a book, a bowl of cereal, a bending black case with another glowing face and I click and read, peruse the people saying something I…

Son, ferried within water, the womb        of his mother. She, comforted        on the back of a donkey,        led at the hand by a hopeful man,        father, to the House of Bread.Seer, sounding words that seared the          hearts of those who…