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Click headshot for bio


Oh little girl when you

were my little girl for real

we would go and gather

armfuls of leaves, maples

especially, setting flame

to sidewalks all around us, how

could we resist? We captured them

and brought them home to iron

and press between layers of crinkly

waxed paper to scatter on tables

and tape on windows. Soon they would

crumble and disappear as you, darling, are
not with me today so I must collect yellow,

orange and red beauties to place in an envelope addressed to you three thousand miles away.


“Jungle Fern”by Wendy Caldwell Maloney. Watercolor.

Click here for Wendy's artists page.


Sitting across the aisle
on the B train
I look at the row of weary faces

various shapes, sizes, colors, ages,
a horizontal explication of what it means 

to have woken many mornings

to brave routine, to leave concerns at home

along with scattered laundry and unwashed 

dishes to head for same/same at work.

I picture each of you, one at a time. I try to 

observe without you knowing and suddenly I

see round, soft faces, no creases in foreheads,

no wrinkles like parentheses around eyes, no down 

turned mouths, no slumped shoulders. I see the plump babies you once were. And with that, a rush of hoping

that you were affectionately held on generous laps, that you were sung tender songs, that you were offered
a bowl of blueberries as initiation to the messy pleasures

of this world. I hope that occasionally you reach back,

even if only briefly to recall your beginning self as a visitor new to the planet, unencumbered and dear.

p29 tired.jpg

"Tired" by Dorothy Keller. Photograph.

Click here for Dorothy's page. 

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