A New Year’s Parable (That Really Happened)

I started snipping. Snipping turned to hacking. The sink filled and fluffed as if with the scavenging haul of a manic, nesting-crazed bird.

following the flare

I walked home from work in one continuous stripe of sunlight past the canal-side patios crowded with burnt shoulders.  Past the old slanted houses with their dimpled windows squinting in this improbable burst… Continue reading →

there’s a certain slant of light

  The real reason I flew to California last month is that someone I love very much is quite ill. Emily Dickenson seems to have written the brief on how I feel about it:… Continue reading →

oh canada

Every other year or so Celine and I meet up for an adventure. Last time, she came to Holland and we filled our days with herring and poetry walks and Belgian beer and… Continue reading →

babbling in my new love language

One month ago, we said hello to our new wee godson. I was racing the stork neck to neck but since baby was born early, I didn’t quite finish my mama/baby gifts in… Continue reading →

the globe is at it again

A little prickle of melancholy poked me this morning because it was all too lovely — the sunny window seat. The glass of milky cold-brewed coffee, glistening with condensation diamonds. The thick weekend paper.… Continue reading →

poems in plainclothes

You already know that my eye collects things.  Prolifically. So much that it’s been whining for a theme song. So I wrote it one.  plainclothes poems, the song is called. Shall I show you… Continue reading →

the blood I lose in translation

My identity lost a lot of blood when I was transplanted to Holland. Three years on, it still looks anemic. Some days I don’t care that I’m not myself in Dutch yet, and… Continue reading →

of the truth about loving

Exhibit A, 2009: Two crazy kids, nonchalant and confident that they will rock ‘this marriage thing.’ Exhibit B, 2012: Two shaken-up kids. The nonchalance seared off quick, like a slick of kerosene on… Continue reading →

of Spring being late to her own party

Spring is white wine and scratchy grass picnics. Spring is jam jars playing house on the pantry shelf. Spring is an odd ramshackle bird in the middle of the city. Spring is the… Continue reading →