DiaBLOGue

Mary’s Response and Mine

At Christmas time I like to read the Gospels again. Partly out of tradition, no doubt, and the love of tradition. For in tradition lies much of the special charm and cheer of holidays. But…

Meadow

(to my daughter—in explanation of her name) 

Balance is what we mean the name 
to tell her when she’s suckled news 
into her brain that birth knits her 
into the nervous system of 
the spastic, plastic planet,

The Buffalo and the Dentist

                        Frontier Village, restored and furnished 
                        with relics of ancestral time 
                        includes live anachronisms. 
                        So we saunter to see the buffalo, laughing, 
                         swinging up between corral boards 
                        and nearly boot it in the rump as we demand, 
                        “Where’s the buffalo?—oh!” 

The Willows

Amy was a child when Congress passed the Edmunds Bill, assuring the end of polygamous living in Utah, but she was old enough to know that Aunt Edna was not her aunt at all but…