In Praise of Trees

                                    After Carlos Santos Perez

                                           Praise Song for Oceania

Let us praise your growth from acorn

and maple seed. From such small beginnings

you emerge to reach

for the cerulean sky.

Let us praise your awakening

in spring with new leaves that turn

sun’s energy into life. And 

ruby and gold leaves in the fall.

Finally sleeping with naked branches

come winter.

Let us praise you as you host

the squirrel’s leafy home, cupped nest

of the blue jay. Let your bark hold insects

for the red-bellied woodpecker,

white breasted nuthatch.

Let us be thankful for the shade

you give in the summer, the moon shadows

on winter’s snow. Let us thank you for the lumber

to build our homes

and to heat them.

Let us watch you toss

your head in the storm’s wind

but stay strong.

Please do not fall

on the house or car.

Let us plant you on the burned slopes

of California to hold the soil,

absorb the carbon

we pour into your world.

                                                                        Remington Review

                                                                        Fall 2026

Creeping Charlie                                                                               

Like depression, your roots travel insidiously, 

cover the patch with green scalloped leaves.

Growing in sun or shade, you invade

the compost pile, contribute

living matter to decaying

violets and strawberries.

If you aren’t mowed, something good

comes of you: tiny blue flowers emerge

from your stems to be sipped by honey bees.

But your flowers have faded,

bees must now search

the clover for nectar.

If only I could control

my creeping vines.

                                                            The Stickman Review

                                                            Winter 2026 (27)

Digging out the Demons

Begin with gathering tools for weeding:

garden bench, empty bucket, gloves to keep

your hands clean, tool to get at the roots

of stilt grass and Bermuda.

Kneel on the garden bench; start at one end,

work towards the other. Next to the asters

some of the weeds, like memories of yesterday,

come out easily, toss them in the bucket. But others,

like those last days of Kenya, require using

the root tool to get underneath the clump

of rhizome and pry out.

Knock the dirt off, add them to the bucket.

Put the worm back in the soil. Mash the

accumulating plants down to add more.

After it is full, carry to the growing compost pile.

                                                            The Literary Nest

                                                            2026

River Remembers

This river remembers what I do not.

It remembers running clear,

abundant with fish.

I see only the tossed garbage,

a sheen of oil, no fish

swimming in the current.

This river remembers times of peace,

truth in the world. I hear only gunfire,

lies spoken by those who pretend

to lead.

This river remembers running though

pine forests and glens. I see it running past

condos and concrete playgrounds.

This river remembers your friendship;

I do not.

                                                            Green Silk Journal

                                                            Spring 2026

The Last Year of His Life

My brother and I cleaned out Dad’s room

at the assisted living facility.

Six bags full of

            receipts: utility bills, credit cards

            magazines: Physics, Science

            paper: lists of chores to do around the house

                       letters from my grandmother

I used a few bags to cover framed photos

to take home:

Mt. Denali that we saw that night

in Alaska

the pileated woodpecker picture

I gave him for Christmas

In a black lawn bag, we stuffed:

the suit he wore to Mom’s memorial

sweat pants we thought he would use

in rehab

his dress khakis, shirts and ties

We took the clothes to Good Will for others to use.

                                                                        The Maynard

My Day as a Physical Therapist at UNC-CH                                                

The day starts with no swelling

in my legs and minimal pain

in my right low back. But I know

what is to come. Sitting to write notes,

I can feel my lower legs swell. Thankfully,

I have support hose to lessen the edema. 

Walking slowly, leaning over to help

short Ms. Lovell advance her rolling walker,

increases my back pain. Have tried various

braces to no avail.

I yearn to lie down but it is on to Ms. Jones

who needs help getting her legs out of bed

after a hip replacement. Lifting her legs,

we inch towards the side of the bed,

my back is as scorched as a used match. 

As soon as she is sitting on the bed,

I can stand up, relieve the burn.

The day goes on, next instruct Mr. Smith

on the stairs. The support hose are doing

their job, at home I can lie down.

But today, despite the pain

and swelling, I have helped patients move

towards their goal of returning home.

It has been a good day.

                                                            Code Blue anthology

                                                            Tales from the Bedside

                                                            2026

519 Lakeshore Dr.

2 bedroom, 1 bath, dining and living room,

kitchen and deck.  I did a lot of work on that house:

took off wall paper with rabbits on it, painted

each room except the living room, it had paneling. 

In the rain, I put up a fence for the dog.

I tore up, killed all the English ivy in the front yard,

it had climbed up the foundation wall, up the supports

for the porch.  Laid down landscape fabric over

which I spread the leaves I got from the city

to use as mulch.  I was going to make

a natural garden in the front yard.

Until Wendy died.  I would look up at her house,

know that she would never be there to take care

of my dog when I was gone, help me choose,

plant native flowers, help me with the vegetable

garden. Coming home to 519 was never the same.

I left for a bigger house in the woods

with a stream running in the back.

                                                                                    Stripes Literary Magazine

                                                                                    2026

Alone in My Bed

Moon drops its shine

through the slats of my shade.

Outside, wind dances in the chimes.

Quiet is broken by falling leaves.

Alone in my bed,

I wait for the sleeping pill

to work its magic.

I am envious of my dog;

he falls asleep

after the requisite three

turns.  He curls his head

onto his feet, his tail

warms his nose.

            Turning left to right, right to left

            to find a spot where the ache

            in my side will cease.

            I ease into sleep,

            hope not to wake

            to my scattered dreams.

Breaking Apart—August 2023

Sun breaks over the horizon,

opening a new day.

But now you have broken

off all conversation. What have

I done to haltour speaking

with respect to each other?   

It has put a brake on friendship.

I don’t feel broken hearted,

I guess I should be. It was

a long friendship but as you

said all things must come to an end. 

So I go along with my day,

your memory fading

like a breaking wave on the beach.

                                                                        Deep South Magazine

                                                                        Apr 2026

Breaking Apart—August 2023

Sun breaks over the horizon,

opening a new day.

But now you have broken

off all conversation. What have

I done to haltour speaking

with respect to each other?   

It has put a brake on friendship.

I don’t feel broken hearted,

I guess I should be. It was

a long friendship but as you

said all things must come to an end. 

So I go along with my day,

your memory fading

like a breaking wave on the beach.

                                                                        Deep South Magazine

                                                                        Apr 2026