top of page



The Christmas Deer
published by Spillwords Press here

She curled into herself —
an injured body
wrapped around its soul,
frozen in the middle of an empty road.
One half broken and bloody —
the other, beautiful and whole.
One eye soaked in crimson —
the other, a moonlit marble.
Each a globe of fear and wonder.

With an ungloved hand,
I stroked her autumn-colored bristles,
combing a path between her two grand ears,
following, like calligraphy, the S of her spine,
my knees holding the half of her that was whole,
her body warming the part of me that was cold.


How long would we sit like this,
could we sit like this —
cars rushing by,
nearly taking us both out?

And yet we were unmoving, waiting as the last
frozen tears of the first winter storm fell,
bits of Christmas snow descending softly
grief melting into beauty
sorrow melting into peace.
A life — or two or three
or infinite—
moving beyond pain
into grace.

The Wall

Finalist for the Caterpillar Poetry Prize

They say that there will soon be a wall separating me from you.

I wonder what it will be like.

Tall and steel?

Wooden and low?

Chain link or barbed?

Stone or brick?

Hay or clay?

Or maybe it will be invisible?

And what will it be for?

To defend?

To control?

To hold people in…

    or keep people out?

Will there be watchtowers or windows or notches to look out of?

A gate or a door or a passage to walk in and out of?

And I wonder, when the wall is built, will I be on the inside or the outside.

And what about you?

Which side will you be on?

bottom of page