Segullah Journal

Unhinged he looked at her.    Clenched jaw working like a throbbing naked heart  she scrubbed the carrot till its  flesh glistened raw,  stripped of bitter gritty skin,  then slammed it down  took up the knife  and slashed the thing into a dozen startled discs.    “She’ll get her finger,” he thought  (half hoped)  amazed [...]

How did she see peaches, never seeing a Cezanne? This mother of my mother who passed to me, across a generation, her own deep-burning need for Beauty. Or so I’m told. “You remind me of your grandma,” my mother used to chide as she coaxed me from pages abloom with Renoirs and Monets. “Only she [...]

She strains toward heaven arms outstretched like a child wanting to be held then falls back, outspent subdued by gravity’s ponderous sway How long must she stay suspended as she is between fire and air between here and there incarnation and release? Do not rage, mother (leave the raging to the poet and his father, [...]

I dreamed of Oxford . . . (spires, a thousand spires, endless lectures, musty halls a solitary self in a Bodleian expanse A good life, my dear Wormwood. An orderly life.) then awakened to laundry and things to be wiped (countertops, noses, bottoms) How did this happen? And when, exactly? Time flows, it flows, it flows and [...]