Reaching, stretching those supple summer muscles designed by long, generous hours in the sun. Into the nest of fluttering leaves, you pull down a fruit, a small sun so perfect in your hand it stings me. I’m reminded of the myth, and the hero who does not think twice about taking what and who …
They come into the world red-streaked and steaming. Blind and not worth much, roughed-up between worn hands and mother’s tongue. Coyotes maraud at dusk, gums raw with want. Gunfire invites them, signaling new life worth killing for. Tonight, the lambs will sleep on kitchen linoleum and drink stove-warmed colostrum. Dreaming beneath the sound of starving …
To My Son, at Three Days Everyone who visits says how tiny you are, how little and delicate. But I do not see it. To me, you are larger than the world. You fill my future with a future of your own that extends beyond my years. You fill my vision as I put my …