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129 Seamon Road, Suite A, Farmington, ME, 04938

Beauty to Ash



The sky was painted blue a long time ago

And the night sky glows with small a glimmer

In the day the sun gives off a warm glow

The oceans and lakes sometimes will shimmer

A bird perches on the branch of a tree

it looks at the big wonders of the world,

thinks how lucky he is to see such beauty

The butterflies laughed as they looped and swirled

As they so did they wind carried them along

A young, small fox went pouncing through a field

while the wind and the river sing a song

And the broken tree is finally healed

this world was created to be turned to ash.




Do you          remember?

Tiny hands, lineless

Big eyes, blind.

Hope     hatchling incubated with





Tremulous heart beating


Caging bones flinch

Smears of red under love




Windows turned inward

Kaleidoscopes of blue

Down weighted thick membrane

    a leech.   a whale.

Cyclical, lingering, clinging

A layer of skin

that won’t say goodbye


Bubbling flesh

Frigid heat

Branding that     never


I remember.






Wintertime, cold and dreary

Everything is still and quiet

Everyone around is weary

For someone found in the morning,

That someone being washed ashore

All this sadness, with no warning,

Many hearts, bleak and sore

For many people cried and dread

The chilling fact has come so soon

That that someone they saw was dead

That awful sight that afternoon

Seeing that someone there

Is something none of them could bear.


Friday, January 20, 2017, 11:41 a.m.



I woke up today

to a realization. 

I am patriotic.


Not the patriotism of 

monster trucks and colossal

flags snapping behind smoke-

belching stacks and the chants of 

USA! USA! Might

makes right. 


Why would patriotism belong to

the daughter of a single

mother, striving to wrench

a future out of

AFDC and food stamps 

by bootstraps of my own making, but I


woke up and realized 

I have a difficult patriotism.

An Emma Lazarus patriotism, requiring 

a lamp, a little light of mine.

Let it shine.


Let it shine. My patriotism asks not 

why others cannot make it,

and asks instead 

why did I?


My patriotism is the promise 

that an imperfect union can be

shaped by an imperfect woman 

who wants others to have 

the same chance she did, or even more. 


A tempest-tossed patriotism, resisting

the siren song of alternative facts,

working into reality the promise

of our national mythology.


I woke up today

to a difficult patriotism and 

a realization. I am not the first. 

I am not alone.


Ode to Spring



Oh how we have waited for thee’s beauty

We have waited for thee to come again

From the cold of nights that made me moody

We have waited for thee to come regain

The earth from the glistening of the snow

Oh how we have missed the colorful world

We waited for the long days to grow

The way you have made the days spin and twirl

Thee have brought the trees back to life once more

To see the blossom of flowers grow forth

To seeing the birds come back with a roar

Oh how they have missed the sun and the warmth 

We have waited for thee to come around 

Oh how we have missed the soggy ground.


Pine Silence




My heart dropped my stomach and my hands went shaky.

My parents were fighting again, I was frozen.

I knew what I had to do, I had to go to the woods.

I grabbed my woods backpack, it had everything I would  need, 

If I was going to be out there for a while.

And I hopped out of the window from my bedroom.

I started sprinting to my wood shelter house I had built out of old plywood.

I opened it up and looked to see how much food I had left from the last time I was here.

I had a can of soup, some crackers and some hot dogs, that was enough for three days.

The sun was going down and I pulled my sleeping bag out and went to bed.

Stomp stomp I figured it was a bear or deer that was just walking by that morning.

I peeked out the window, it turned out to be a game warden.

I was scared I hid down by my sleeping bag

He didn’t see me, he just walked by me.

I had a rational fear of game wardens.

My dad has gotten in trouble with them before.

Just then my can of soup fell on a rock with a loud bang.

He turned around and started walking toward me.

He knocked at the door and said “hello?”.

I turned around and peeped “hi.”

He asked where my parents were.

I said that they were yelling at each other.

He said to hop in his truck so I did.

He made a strange call. I only heard the words kid and station.

Then he took me to the game warden station.

Then some guy named Chris took me to an orphanage.

He told me that I wasn’t in a safe home and I will be put in foster care.

He also told me what he was and about his job and I knew that this is what I wanted to be.

I was so miserable in my foster home.

Then my foster parents took me to the orphanage.

I was told I was going to be adopted, I asked who it was.

Then Chris walked in and I started to cry. I was so happy.

He introduced me to his family and the other game wardens he worked with.

Now today two years later I'm happy and free and I go to the woods for joy not pain.


Pregnancy After Loss isn't Easy



It’s seeing   the two   pink lines   and getting 

Scared, not excited.

It’s the telling people and then getting Scared to 

have to tell them you lost it.

It’s calling   the doctors   to set up appointment and 

then getting Scared you won’t make it.

It’s getting to the appointment and getting Scared they’re 

Going to tell you baby isn’t there.

It’s waiting for the HCG results to come back.

It’s the having to go back to get them retested   and to

be Scared that they decreased

It’s waiting for the ultrasound   to be Scared to

not make it.

It’s the having to go to the bathroom and checking to

make sure there’s no Blood.

It’s every little Cramp or Pain thinking it’s not Good.




The mirror with the black cloth Covering every inch

They say it holds the monster in all of us

The ground is shaking

The black cloth has fallen

My heart is Quaking

I close my eyes thinking I will be free

I hear the cry of someone

I slowly open my eyes

And then I see

The legend that is told

The sharp teeth

The claws

Those eyes that haunt many

Was in me all along.


The Changes of Life, A Sonnet


When the humans were shooting and chopping

They were making their prize.  Farming,  building

they were having a fun time planting seeds.

Trapping and clapping while forming a line.

Burning and learning about fire’s ash.

Making a crime,, Selling and buying death.

Swimming and flying, swimming and flying,

crying and trying to build a new life.

Fishing and cooking to keep all alive,

but at the end the sun bursts into flame.

Humans are trying, crying, and dying.


     The Gift



Hung on that cross, 

where his blood was shed

Crown of thorns, 

pressed upon his head


As he took his last breath, 

nails driven in his hands. 

What he gave upon his death, 

When he was just a perfect man


Ask him in your heart,

In which he will cleanse, 

Free from sin, right from the start. 

A friend you can depend


A lifelong friend you inherit, 

As nothing can set you are apart

A friend worth more than a karat

What more could you want?


Eternity means, there is no end

Cleansed and free from all our sins. 

We are forgiven, and our hearts will mend

As it was written, the gift was given 


The days he suffered in pain. 

Eternal life is what he gave. 

Died buried and rose again, 

there was even an empty tomb


The price he had to pay

 is beyond our notion.

That gift he gave that day, 

was the gift of 



The Walk 







And painful.

And tedious.


Blistered feet

and bruised heels.


The truckers are safely in their seats

high above me.

Their trucks speed by


nothing separates us.


No sidewalks to seek safety on.



eclipse the light.

Sending me near-death experiences -


- but only in my mind.


I am safe?

The fear is almost primal.

Every time a car flies by,

a little close for my liking,

I think: 

“This is it. 

Is this it?”


Dewdrops seeping through my sneakers

soaking my feet.

My dollar store ankle socks

were white.


Now they are light brown.


A cold wind whips against my face.


The winter will be rough.



I hate this walk.

I hate it.

I hate it.

I hate it.

I hate…



but by the Gods and Goddesses

And all things divine and natural

I am reminded of why I moved here in the first place.


I see the world in the hours before all others wake,

as it was made to be.


The forests.

The water.

The sky begins to burn with the embers of the sun

As my body burns too

from my travels.

The stars,

the moon,

the sun

following me through my day.


It’s all so glorious,

So beautiful.

It’s alive.

Nature is my saving grace.


And, before I know it,

The beauty escapes again

as I sprint


The Street.

Not a crosswalk within sight.


I cross and I enter

A corporate 


of noise

and nonsense.


I’ll do it again tomorrow.



Who I Share Things With



I am a good friend. I am an animal lover.

I love going for a boat ride on Wilson Lake in the summer at my girlfriend’s camp.

I love writing my jokes for my friend, Mike.

He puts my jokes in a book and shows them to everybody at school. Dogs love me so very much.


I love to read all books at the library. When I can go to the library, that is.

The virus caused a lot of trouble. A lot of people died.


I share things with all my friends; friends that I love.

I love reading books with Becky.

I like to share things with Barbara 

and with my helper, Sarah,

that comes to help me and plays Flinch and checkers with me.


With all my good friends.