Though she says she does not believe most of it, my grandmother kneels beside me in church each Sunday, tickling my arm with the lace on her handkerchief, the one with nickels knotted into the corner so I will have... Continue Reading →
Standing on the steps of the high school those mornings I envied the other girls their eyes lined and lips glossed with 79-cent Avon-- and while Jane argued with Priscilla about which was more seductive, intelligence or the new math... Continue Reading →
Reading Sandburg at the Beach by Alinda Dickinson Wasner Suddenly he looks so young Now that I’m almost as old as he was when he was in vogue. Perhaps it’s better this way. Would I have cared so much About unions... Continue Reading →
by Alinda Dickinson Wasner At the edge of the woods today I catch the maples and the sumac in flagrante delicto going at it right out here in the open in front of God and the red October sun-- who... Continue Reading →
by Alinda Dickinson Wasner she said she always soaked the bulbs in Betadine douche it was the only way to force them open on that fourth floor terrace where green things found a toe hold in the concrete never mind... Continue Reading →
by Alinda Dickinson Wasner lurking on the seam of the refrigerator door waiting for me to open it so they can scurry in, or the big ones in the stove that shoot out like flames when you light the burner... Continue Reading →
The Starving Poet 