Exceptional
marci madary My Grandma was 98 ½; she died on my grandpa’s birthday. He had left this world 5 ½ years earlier. Cognitively engaged until...
Witness
by Marci Madary My desk faces the back of our third-floor condo where I frequently gaze over my computer screen into the branches of all...
A Widow Poem
Is a widow ever not a widow anymore? Is a mother ever not a mother? Even if, God forbid, all her children die? In the sensation of the...
Painfully White
Privilege. Privileges. Privileged. Sounds almost like it can be earned, like I did something – deserved. So seductive, this fallacy. Then...
Enough.
My refrigerator is full, my cupboards far from bare. Is that enough? I have sheets for my bed, a pillow for my head. Is that enough? I...
Easter Morning
Crimson splatters on white robes, protein and plasma: essence of life, thick with the stench of death. Violence touches his skin, his...
Juxtapose
Red, newborn fists hold together crumpled buds at the ends of patient tree limbs. Magically, they will relax open into smooth, emerald...
Twelve Years
I heard David Whyte read his poems seven years ago and again recently. Now, as then, he spoke of his dear friend and fellow poet, John...
Summer Solstice
Today is the day. Today is the day you bury your husband - the love of your days, the lilt in your song. Today is the day you walk away...
Overcast
Thoughts of you float forward sitting in stillness walking in silence laying in darkness. How we were intimately intertwined: You,...