Before dawn Bill stoops under crimson leaves of the low-hanging Japanese Maple

Someone smart told me yesterday you never really know the meaning of a word until

It was her birthday. She was only five the dawn we went out to look at roses in Grandma’s garden

You think he’d be more grateful. Neither rich nor poor he’s never wanted for anything. He’s always had what he needs but never had any gratitude

There are poems everywhere but you have to find them, a teacher told my class long ago. I was a kid sitting at a desk, cowlicks sprouting from my scalp,

Her corded belt python tight around a tiny waist makes her blooms bigger brighter as they unfold

We’re twins. We’ve been together from the start. You’re the doctor. You know that.

I look in the mirror and I’m not… Where did I go? I don’t know so I look around and see my wife with the dogs and kids. Not one of them sees me.

We hung suet out on the deck today hoping the wrens would come and stay the winter,

We are to each other now many decades later what we were the day we got married, a couple at the kitchen table on

Time’s a jet plane when you’re young. You go to school get a good job marry someone nice

It’s a matter of beans, says Rosie, 79, legally blind, her fingers dancing across a Bible in braille, when a reporter asks her about

Unlike his peers his office holds no photo of a wife no indication that he has fathered five