Archive - 100 Poems

Long Covid, Year Five

I am repeatedly startled by how much I can do, then by how little.

Apr 26 •

Flying is what happens before you keel from the nest or peel from the sky, fall hard to the ground, soften it with your rot.

Apr 19 •

I Might Be Willing to Believe in a Creative God

A single goose honks like she’s attached to the handle of an unseen bicycle, squeezed by the hand of an unseen God, who wants you to know that he’s…

Apr 11 •

In the calm damp of morning, every color shines deeper, and everyone is cradling some bit of cloud, some cried-out memory of last night’s storm like all…

Apr 5 •

March 2025

And then, there you are beside me in my sleep, by which I mean my non-sleep, the days when a pillow worked like an off switch being long gone, the days…

Mar 29 •

World in Transition

Honeysuckle just goes for it— autumn’s last green thing flaunts the first green of spring, whereas maples and buckeyes, whom I favor, bleed their way…

Mar 22 •

Surrender, Again

Never mind, then— I’ll just pour myself in the bowl of the earth, let my heart be ladled about. There are worse fates than being delicious.

Mar 16 •

Poetry Open Mic

Hello, dear, darling paid subscribers!

Mar 8 •

If you believe this moment is a wall, it will be a wall.

Mar 8 •

Before the Branches

Before the branches burst to bloom the canopy breaks in song, whistled melody of Meadowlark, raucous duet of Carolina Wren.

Mar 1 •

February 2025

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