INSTINCT
The two elephant matriarchs
know their herds are nearing
each other. Agitated,
the two leaders trumpet,
pivot in circles,

defending their families. The calf ignores
her mother’s command and wanders
to investigate. The members
of the other herd circle the youngster,

fold her into their midst. Her mother
squeals, her trunk tastes the wind
for the scent of her child. She rushes
the kidnappers, ivory slicing the air,
but the calf

is taken further into the opposing herd.
Her mother rips the trees,
tusks grass into the air, stands
calling even as her herd moves
off to water. Once they take your child,
you have nothing left to lose.

Granny Smith Magazine Jan 2012

AFTER THE RAIN
Stream flows, not quite out of its banks.
Titmouse calls, an echo.
Birch leaf, white flag of winter’s surrender,
flutters to ground.
Spider floats silk between trees.
Rain drops jewel redbud.

Squirrel breakfasts on seeds,
starts a nest. Cuts and balances a twig,
maneuvers it to the crotch of sycamore.
Takes a break, inspects a hole in dead snag,
leaps to maple only to disappear.

Wind tears through greening tulip poplar,
rips tender leaf from branch.
Worm dries in sun, rain-driven
from soil. Ferns unravel by rotting log.
May apples umbrella forest floor.

QUESTION MARK
At the gravel pit pond last year, trees stood tall.
Maple crimson and gold, redbud yellow reflected
from green water to autumn blue sky. Song sparrows
slept in the cedar. Wood ducks swam in the swamp,
sliders basked on the logs.

This fall, someone must have played with a bulldozer.
Gnarled cedar roots reach towards the sky, the maples’
trunks lie half split along the banks, the swamp empty.

In the cool morning, it suns on a cut trunk,
burnt orange wings with silvered edges,
matching black spots on each wing.
Warmed, the butterfly closes its wings,
in the center a tiny metallic question mark.

Earthspeak Mar 2012

ON PRODUCTIVITY
The Holsteins salt and pepper
spring-green grass. It’s the early
morning cud chewing, they rest
under the warming
sun.

Heat waves
begin
to shimmer
the pavement
as I drive
to evaluate
Ms. Smith.

Drop by drop, the cows’ udders swell.
Milk bags sway between their legs.
Time to enter the milking shed. Each tag read,
logged into the record, the day’s production
tallied.

Daily, a computer
calculates
my quota,
need
twenty-eight
visits.

Number 50 is dropping off,
probably due to age. An old milk cow
isn’t much good for anything
except dog food.

Chagrin River Review Fall 2012

TOBACCO SEASON
Lungs balloon, spring ribs
into oaken staves, push his diaphragm
to the bottom of his barreled chest.
Nails and lips purple as blood shunts
to the brain, kidneys. Nasal cannula,

oxygen concentrator, 50 foot tube
trails him around the house.
Can’t crank up the liter flow, stops
the drive to breathe. Yesterday,
rescue inhalers failed. His muscles quit.

At the hospital, the doctors strap
a breathing mask on him, later
a tube snakes down his throat.
Red stop sign on tobacco yellow paper
hangs above the bed-

DO NOT RESUSITATE.

the barefoot review 6/2012

HALLOWEEN
and I am carving a pumpkin.
It started as blossom yellow, the first color
you become when your liver fails.

Ms. Smith is way beyond this.

I cut out the top, reach in,
dig out the seeds. Some fall back
into the hollow; just as she

slips into the dark
only the dying know.

Eyes, Nose. Sharp teeth. No ears.

I slice a little wedge out
of the cap for air flow, push
the candle into the base. She has gone
past pumpkin orange, in fact
not even pumpkins turn
the red-gray-green she
has become as her new liver
fails. After tricks and treats
the mouth will look like hers,

sunk in and soft. Halloween’s over,
I burn the candle a few more days.

Just because I like it.

ON THE DECK
Wrens trill, blue jays scream warning.
A black racer scaling the tree? The branch sways,
perhaps the red-shouldered hawk waits for a nestling.

Thunder grumbles, chickadees fuss.
In the woods, ferns wait for rain.
Jays attack the sitting hawk until she flies,

showing her striped tail.
A distant call, her mate hunts.
Only wind as the storm approaches.

The Cherry Blossom Review

AFTER THE RAIN
Stream flows, not quite out of its banks.
Titmouse calls, an echo.
Birch leaf, white flag of winter’s surrender,
flutters to ground.
Spider floats silk between trees.
Rain drops jewel redbud.

Squirrel breakfasts on seeds,
starts a nest. Cuts and balances a twig,
maneuvers it to the crotch of sycamore.
Takes a break, inspects a hole in dead snag,
leaps to maple only to disappear.

Wind tears through greening tulip poplar,
rips tender leaf from branch.
Worm dries in sun, rain-driven
from soil. Ferns unravel by rotting log.
May apples umbrella forest floor.

B HEATR
He is here again, his white van
and a butterscotch light for warnings.
He has come to see the heat pump. Yesterday
he came twice. Maybe he needed a part.

He kneels by the metal lungs
of the heat pump, doesn’t disturb
the wood thrush singing its E-OH-LAY. Or the wrens
ferrying insects to the nest in the dryer vent.

Lifting the panel, he kneels
in front, an altar of temperature.
I can’t see what he is doing,
spring leaves block my view.

He has removed the pump’s cover.
It is sitting in the drive. I didn’t see him
bring a new one, besides he is alone.
A new one is too heavy for one to carry.

It’s 2 pm, he is packing up. He gets out,
monkeys with the For Sale sign
at the end of the drive.
Puts it in his truck.

The house has been empty for a year,
its previous owners gone north.
On the deck, I listen, a yellow-throated warbler,
it will be leaving soon.

Chagrin River Review Fall 2012

A Question
Which ion starts the cascade
that becomes a thought,
sodium or potassium?
An electrical current ripples
down the axon
in milliseconds,
chemicals float into the neural junction,
spread to the adjacent neuron.

But where does the process become
more than electricity and chemicals?
Does it race through the hippocampus
to gain a hint of emotion, gather
attention in the thalamus, rush into the light
of the cerebral cortex

to become this poem?

Epiphany mag online, 4/2012