in autumn

in autum­nyel­low moon become­sam­ber mum becomesques­tion of bridges that go nowhere becomess­mell of paper, hot out of the print­er becomes some­thing gold­en that was alive just yes­ter­day­but today smells new­ly, rich­ly dead. Originally pub­lished in Door is a Jar (Spring 2019.)Published on The Laundry Line, Sept 16, 2025.

under the heat dome

under the heat domethere is a Siamese cat­cross­ing the alley.he used to be my cat­but he lives with some oth­er woman now.the moon is also a cat—round-faced, old-fashioned, talkative.this moon-cat fol­lows mefrom room to roomas I wan­derin the mid-night.heat soaks into my body;curls under my diaphragm; tries to suf­fo­cate me.she finds me in my chairnestles … 

Bees

Beesin the ear­ly fall­while the bees clean house,I con­jure a moon that­tastes of fire­weed honey,sweet on the tongue­and slow on the fingers,it climbs high behindthe hick­o­ry tree and hangs in the top­most branch­es. Published on The Laundry Line, April 1, 2025

Anticipation

AnticipationThe man in the moon is sit­ting in his bathtub.His wash­cloth in his hand,he is scrub­bing his left heel.Because tomor­row, he has a date with that skin­ny barista from Ashtabula.Who is sit­ting on her front porch,rocking slow­ly away from Ohio.Looking at him and won­der­ing ifshe should make a wish. Published on The Laundry Line, 11 …