

Sneaky Jesus
After Jesus rose and he tiptoed out of his tomb in the middle of the night, he was much sneakier. People didn’t recognize him right away so he could say all kinds of stuff that they weren’t able to hear when they looked into his familiar eyes. That is, until they caught on to his game and said, “Oh Jesus! You again!” With a grin, he would be gone, at least until the next time. Like the other morning, when I woke up in my lover’s arms. His tenderness pulling me near. I sniff


A Spoonful of Resurrection
Each morning when I roll over and open the corner of one eye and the light wiggles through like an impatient child, my first thought is of you. A small prayer separates my lips: for a sprinkling of fairy dust that I might rise from these wrinkled sheets and leave a night of old death; to taste a spoon full of resurrection. And, if not too much to ask, that as I begin to stand, my arched back might be green amidst brown grass surprising a stranger passing by. (photo by Ed Side


I Love You, I Hate You
I hate you because I love you. You have ruined me completely. I was fine on my own before you showed me what togetherness is. I didn’t complain, or even think twice about, shouldering the burdens of life until you demonstrated true partnership for me. I used to flit from one social engagement to another with laughter on my lips and then you came along and let me know what true contentment feels like. Now I am utterly miserable in your absence. My anger flairs because you have


Nasty Women
Talk too much
too loudly
too directly
too honestly. Stand tall
shoulders back
not hiding
heart or breast. Walk in their own shoes
at their own pace
on their own feet
in their own time. Appear a little too confident
for a man’s comfort
carelessly, living
into their truest selves. (art by Hildegard von Bingen)


The Underworld
Deep in the Northwoods,
where mosquitoes swarm in flocks
and pine trees try to tickle
the clouds with their needles, I sit in stillness
at the end of the dock,
feeling the warm
coffee cup in my hands. Sun rays angle through
the surface of the lake,
revealing a glimpse into an underworld
where I am a stranger... Pools of fish
smaller than my hand
interweave among each other,
looking for tiny floating
particles for their morning snack.


Roots and Branches
Laying under a tree
on a hot summer eve
with the solstice sun still hanging
in the deep, blue sky. I squirm on the grass
until the roots support my head.
I imagine the tree cradling me
like a baby in her arms. I look up into the blanket
of leaves wiggling above me,
sending the breeze
to play with my hair. Tiny holes in the green
filament allow light
to touch my face
but not burn my skin. The moment is idyllic; I breathe
in the goodness of it, inhaling
the me


In Praise
I. I always wanted thin, delicate arms. The ones that were meant for cascading down harp strings, alighting over piano keys, pirouetting across a stage. The limbs intended for long, white gloves and jeweled, strapless evening gowns. My arms are thick and solid like branches of an Oak tree. Genetically, they offer the ability to wring out wet clothes, open stubborn lids, scrub muddy floors. They were designed to hold crying babies and dig in garden dirt. Not elegant and lovely


Slow Motion
Days so still,
life freezes;
time unwinds. Mist hangs
like each breath
suspended in winter’s air. Gray clouds obscure
yellow light rays
that gently warm. Distant past
creeps into the present,
chilling hope. The earth pauses
in its orbit,
ready to rush into full tilt. Only to dizzy
the world around
yet again.