To see the announcement for my poetry book, Sparrow, selected by poet Dorianne Laux for the Kenneth and Geraldine Gell Poetry Prize at Writers & Books, go to

You can find a review by Kathleen Kirk at EIL:

Thursday, December 30, 2010

Superstition Review

I have four poems at the latest on-line edition of Superstition Review

Click on "POETRY" to find me!

Monday, December 27, 2010

One Bad Poem

I'm awake early in the morning in my mother's house,
hiding in the bedroom with a cup of coffee
and my notebook. Mom is watching television.
My eleven-year old daughter lies asleep
in the bed beside me. It's as close,
this morning, as I can come to being alone.
This is what it's like to be me
and to insist on being a writer.
These few lines. Too much caffeine.
Other people elbowing in (my mother's news program
wafting from the living room; Emma snoring).
Another few lines. Not really poetry.
Just scribbling. But now I am imagining you.
You pour yourself a cup of coffee
and you sit down. You turn the page, idly,
trustingly. And, who know why,
but what I've written speaks to you. It says,
You are not alone in your dreams of becoming.
It says, We are in this together.

Monday, December 20, 2010

I'm in a Quoting Kind of Mood

"Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much a heart can hold."

-Zelda Fitzgerald

Monday, December 13, 2010


I have spent the entire day (9 hours) finishing my grades, munching on cran-raisins and almonds (no lunch), drinking way too much coffee. I'd leave for home now, but first I have to walk through the pouring rain to my car, and then it's a 35-minute drive. It's 2010, shouldn't there be Add Imagea Star Trek like transporter device that I could simply step into?

It's all good. My students' creative nonfiction essays were nothing short of brilliant and I enjoyed reading them. My daughters want to get a Christmas tree tonight. Tomorrow morning when I get up, it will be the first day of my holiday break. I'll read some poetry. And I'll write a poem.

"The future is uncertain but this uncertainty is at the very heart of human creativity." -Ilya Prigogine

Monday, December 6, 2010

One Bad Poem

I wrote this a couple weeks ago. Not sure that it works, but a friend has been urging me to put more of my daily writing here. So here goes.

"You can't sit here," I tell the cat.
"I'm sitting here." I move him
to another chair, which has to be
equally comfortable, but before I can settle down
with my notebook and pen,
my cup of coffee, my scattered thoughts,
he's back. He's a black cat.
He came to us as a kitten
on my youngest daughter's seventh birthday.
He sits imperiously on the footstool,
watching me. We woke this morning
to snow and I am playing hookie
from my paying job so that I can sit here,
scribbling, which is my real work.
The cat gets bored, curls at my feet
and goes to sleep, which is his real work.
The only sounds are the furnace clicking on,
the lap-lap of the filter on the goldfish tank,
and the scritch of my pen
across the paper. Now it seems
I am dreaming the world
into being. A dog barks.
When I glance out the window,
the snow has stopped. I turn back
to the page. I draw blue letters
across line after line.