/*! elementor – v3.6.6 – 08-06-2022 */ .elementor-widget-image{text-align:center}.elementor-widget-image a{display:inline-block}.elementor-widget-image a img[src$=”.svg”]{width:48px}.elementor-widget-image img{vertical-align:middle;display:inline-block} Bathtub Dream, Spring
after Marianne Chan  I feel // my body heavy. // This is how I worry: / my body, my body  I try to think of the flourish of wildflowers. I know that surely satin trillium petals don’t feel foreign blooming atop whorls of leaves. But my seedlings, penetrating surface soil of skin and […]
I don’t have to only write love poems.  I could type away about the rustic orange changes in the Michigan scenery on my road trip to Midland. I could write on how the autumnal colors blur together  into an ombre of ocre and aimless whimsy.  I could write about the freckles of peaksÂ
/*! elementor – v3.6.6 – 08-06-2022 */ .elementor-widget-image{text-align:center}.elementor-widget-image a{display:inline-block}.elementor-widget-image a img[src$=”.svg”]{width:48px}.elementor-widget-image img{vertical-align:middle;display:inline-block} Connected, Spring 2022
/*! elementor – v3.6.6 – 08-06-2022 */ .elementor-widget-image{text-align:center}.elementor-widget-image a{display:inline-block}.elementor-widget-image a img[src$=”.svg”]{width:48px}.elementor-widget-image img{vertical-align:middle;display:inline-block} My Hidden Cabinet, Spr
/*! elementor – v3.6.6 – 08-06-2022 */ .elementor-widget-image{text-align:center}.elementor-widget-image a{display:inline-block}.elementor-widget-image a img[src$=”.svg”]{width:48px}.elementor-widget-image img{vertical-align:middle;display:inline-block} Her Collection, Spring
Earl grey skies swaddle the rooftops like hand-knit mittens. A reluctant rain begins to fall, pattering on sidewalks and bejeweling the crimson leaves of the maple trees in the city park. I walk slowly through the purple twilight, breathing deeply  the smells of damp earth and wet leaves.Â
(Open on panning shots of trees, squirrel’s-eye view, sliding from the ground up. Fade into golden leaves being blown from their branches, drifting in and out of focus. Peaceful orchestral music mixed with ambient bird song plays.)  Wizened British Narrator: As the last leaves of autumn fall t
/*! elementor – v3.6.6 – 08-06-2022 */ .elementor-widget-image{text-align:center}.elementor-widget-image a{display:inline-block}.elementor-widget-image a img[src$=”.svg”]{width:48px}.elementor-widget-image img{vertical-align:middle;display:inline-block} ultralight, Spring 202
At nightfall, we followed the path past the crabapple where blackberries thread their thorns into thicket walls that prick  our bare feet and snatch at our wrists as we pluck the sweet sun-warm fruit each August. The last few fireflies blinked  from the bushes that border the edge of aspens
