quiet winter night
fingering the frayed ends of
grandmother's quilt

shattered picture frame
yet so perfect
her mother's face

Kentucky rain
sprinkling down
the sides of the cave

old jacket
completely out of style
I wear it because it was his

cupped in father's open hand
his father's
prized pocket watch

in the suspended hand
of the preacher
my grandmother's breath

Thanksgiving grocery shopping
the car
with a wobbly wheel

cold, cold night
all my blankets
wrapped around you

cold November night
rocking back and forth
the car with fogged windows

waiting by the phone
for your call
day turns to night

so many winters
through the eyes
of my skull cap

picking his brain
as I stare into his eyes
... what did he ask me?

imagining it without the crack
almost impossible
...the ringing

our first Christmas
        i hate
        all the gifts

all these years
holding a metal torch
...she's still beautiful

Old quilt
my boyfriend
floats it over me.

aroused--
you brush your teeth
before coming to bed

so many memories
of hard times
in the smiley face shirt

tattered paperback
still the
bookshelf favorite

my favorite t-shirt
two sizes
too small

traveling a lot of miles
it seems endless
...the wall

strike one, strike two
good luck once again
his old man’s baseball glove

on the ground
yesterday's pizza box
I wonder if it's empty

after work
remembering i was hungry
three hours ago

broken e string
now the neck
fits in my hand

jumps and twirls
the couple glides together
across the ice

rusted car
a Christmas tree
hanging out of the trunk

night before graduation
        more unsure
        about everything

family talk time
mother tracing circles
on the old oak table

dark ring
around the coffee pot
always six cups

first one up--
stealing your sweater
while I make breakfast

the guy on the penny
towers over me
sitting in his chair

week before Christmas—
trying not to make eye contact
with the Salvation Army bell ringer

argument
silently grows

last week
they crashed one by one
snowflakes in my hand

tarnished old mirror
you look
like a ghost

up and down
in and out
Grandma knits a scarf

just me
and the 8-ball
planning my future

girls' night in--
squishing cotton balls
between our toes

cross-legged on the mountaintop
the rhythm of my breath
wind

crowded elevator
the doors open
to an empty floor

poor little haiku
you are better to me
than your silent brothers

8 ball corner pocket
time for the cue
without the tip

hot wheels
and armpit farts
            no girls allowed

my grandma
beating me
at video games

porch settin'
   26 summers together
no need for words

old classmate
reintroducing myself
at dad's funeral