Sunset Over Texas

There was no snow in April,

nor thunder in Febuary, 

but now the sky grows grey

and dark.

I tried to tell you that evening

when the day had waned to

thin orange stripes, contrasting

bright pink clouds, a sun half-sunken

below a somber horizon.

You would listen by and by,

a solemn nod, faint smile,

but your eyes were lightyears

away from whatever 

I was saying.

I wonder now if you will miss me,

when you find I’ve gone.

If only heaven and earth were not

so great a distance,

and there was only the

white porch swing

on a patio of this

too small house.


We three waited

for a waterslide,

unsure if we could 

all go together.

Each positioned a seat on a 

yellow raft with handles,

and nervously giggled.

Young ladies, each adults now,

wonderment in our hearts

at how simple things like

gravity and water could transform

three sisters into the children 

we once were.

Terrified at points, 

feeling like the pull

was too harsh, 

and panic in three sets of eyes

three years apart. 

Each thought that 

we might die.

Just hold on.

Don’t you dare let go.

Into the abyss, backward

we were thrust, and after 

what seemed eternity,

(about 3 seconds)

we emerged joyous with laughter,

too giddy to find out footing,

three sisters onto the 

next slide.


She inhaled the air of the world,
allowing its cold to fill her lungs,
and exhaled, warmly, a vapor
filled with all of her joyful feeling.

Her song settled heavily against
the snow, sinking into the ground, melting at her soft melody, radiant
like the coming dawn.

Round wide eyes, and rosy cheeks
kissing the daffodils and dasies,
whispering words of love and affection,
promising to them a life of laughter.

And the little birds who followed her,
each busy with their own tasks,
a flurry of feathers and finicky comments, unafraid of her light touch,
on her shoulders, took a perch.

I Miss You

I do little things
like saute garlic and
deviate from recipe.
I try to be clever with
tomatoes and pepper,
and experiment around
pretending to be you.

I’m not adventurous,
but you are,
and I miss the way
you’d smile over
your shoulder at me
and your eyes
would become folded
into your cheeks.

I think ten days
apart from you is torture,
and pray that this experience
will only grow us stronger.

To Rae, Who Just Got a New House

I hope you have pizza,
the first slice in your new place,
laughing, using boxes
for chairs and table tops.

Maybe you won’t find your cups at first, and you’ll have to
use a Pyrex measuring cup
and a vase that had held birthday flowers.

When you first unpack your bedspread,
and make your bed for the very first time again, and that you’ll remember
what it felt like when you first got
Chloe, your cat.

You’ll look at the mirror,
and maybe for the foreign lighting
or the fact that everything is boxed,
see a stranger smiling back.
It will take a moment to realize
that it’s you.