A poem begins with a lump in your throat. Robert Frost

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Enjoy a few of my poems on this website:

EXCERPT FROM MEMORY & COMPLICITY

April 2002, Paris

I stand in a line of mostly silent people

on the sidewalk beside the Memorial de la Shoah.

I am sixty years old; this is my first visit

to a Holocaust museum

THE YELLOW DRESS

I loved this dressy-dress

as I spun round and round

in the dressing-room mirror

of Rich’s Department Store –

swirling the skirt, checking it out,

front, back, side-to-side,

yellow chiffon

MISS LIZZIE’S KITCHEN

Turnip greens, green beans, green tomatoes

in the garden just outside Miss Lizzie’s screen door,

Mason jars of yellow-orange peaches,

dense purple-red beets, bread and butter pickles

MY MOTHER’S HANDS

When did this happen?

My hands have become my mother’s hands.

I see her when I pass storefront windows,

pause to look at size zero mannequins

with flawless hands wearing clothes

I can neither fit in nor likely afford.

Reflections in the plate glass are surely not me –

RAIN EVERY DAY FOR TWO WEEKS

Rain Every Day For Two Weeks

and the Chattahoochee River
runs wide and fast
covering the shoals

the river runs red

THE CHURCH

He came to the church for solace

the church of his parents, three brothers, and a sister

the church of Bach solos he sang as a boy

the choir loft always his sanctuary

I’ll add more along the way…

Visit Amazon.com to purchase Memory & Complicity, SHE, Celebration of Healing and Red Clay.

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