DiaBLOGue

Thanksgiving

Beth: Listening  “Take care,” says my Grandma Tess. She is the first one to leave after Thanksgiving dinner because she can’t drive at night. She’s got two hours’ driving to do, south to Salt Lake.…

November 2001

You notice the smells first, more spring, or
even summer, than late fall, the stale-clean
scent of wet sunlit streets after last night’s 
heavy rain, the musk of soaked dead leaves,

Brown

I’m mostly brown. I have brown hair and, in summer, brown skin. It’s not a pretty golden brown like the models in the tanning lotion ads. It’s a kind of ashy, dirty brown. My eyes…

The Hands of Cowboy Red

When my father sucked in and released his last hyphenated breath, I was holding his weightless hands, trying to make them warm. He was old. He had cirrhosis of the liver, an abdominal aortal aneurysm…

Tiananmen Square, Beijing, 1999

Soft summer wind lifts girls’ sheer dresses into wings,
Pinks, reds, and golds winking and rippling through the air
Like babies cooing far away. 
They pose round-faced and porcelain 

Flying in a Confined Space

In my dream, people mill at a fair, trying things they’ve never before done. There’s horseback riding on flashy steeds and archery with brightly fletched arrows.  At the fair’s farthermost edge, wings rest upon the…

The Fall of My Fiftieth Year

Winter already edging down 
from mountain passes, I walk past 
our first town cemetery, filled with upright 
markers and gold-red trees. 
It’s had no vacancies for years.