Grandma’s Arms

Grandma’s brown arms wrapped around the world and held it tight, close to her bosom, close to her heartbeat. Grandma’s brown arms always listened, paid attention, knew just how tight to squeeze, and when to let go. Grandma loved fierce, fiercer than anyone. In her...
The Cathedral—June Thirteenth

The Cathedral—June Thirteenth

Because the vistas end in arches that do not change And the grillwork of sails forecasts a season of palms The dove holds a steady hover over the crossroads of death My heart beats erratically I have been afraid of harsh words of hounds quarrying the cat of my aging....