In 1986, I woke up one morning and had the ideas for a series of poems. Later, as I wrote them down, I realized they shared a common...

The breeze was cool for July, even though the sun poured thickly down into St. Valier on the banks at the St. Lawrence seaway. The little town boasted a huge church whose bell sent gongs bouncing off houses and rattling ears a few times daily. I’d walk the river edge alone and barefoot, stubbing my foot on a stone here and there. Back at my mother-in-laws house, there was Francophone spoken. It focused on the price of gas, American politics, and barbs back and forth between

In my twenties, I was living in a room in the house of a lady from Louisiana. I called her Lonnie. Her cozy house and considerate manner...

When I was about eight, I had a red pants snow suit with suspenders. The top of the suit was navy blue and white padded flannel. The hat and mittens blended all the colors. I thought nothing of stuffing myself into this when dad said, “Whose ready for snow cream?!” My older brother didn’t seem so interested as my middle brother. He came out in the backyard with us, anyway. Snowball fights were a byproduct of snow missions. There seemed some kind of unspoken rule that older si

Many children experience playing in a sandbox. I enjoyed my earliest when I was a toddler in Glen Cove, Long Island. Here’s a photo of me and my brother with matching plaid playsuits. He was working on a clay pot and was beside a washed-out sandbox on our street. My mother wanted us dressed in style for every activity. On this day, I knelt across from him, head-to-head, as his skillful hands made magic. I don’t remember ever thinking we were as different as a girl and a boy.