Sister Mercy

This poem was published in the Sonoma Mandala in 1987. trembling I would watch Sister Mercy’s weathered hands work the soil in the convent garden I would hide half behind the bird bath till the stark white of my anklet among green weeds would confess my presence...

Spring Dump

It must be April in the mountains. “It’s not spring until it snows on the dogwood blossoms,” the old timers up here say. It’s a good day to make chicken soup and snickerdoodles, leaf through seed catalogs and neglected ideas.