The bird

The bird finds its way onto the page again.
It speaks--
and there are no bars
and it is pink.

The eve of a new year?

I have been scattered

I have been scattered, bits of me spread all around.
There I am in the sparkling sun,
in that bit of moon,
and there,
in the shiny ribbon caught in the wire fence.

Ode to a different time

when my grandmother knew what her bell bill was for
and went line dancing
and liked outlandish socks


___

(Grandma, I miss you.)