A Pair

I will let poetry

be the portal

literary tunnel

of our story


A small hand


an “O”

my thumb almost touching

it partners

around your middle finger


That’s how we walked


after the day

we became





The Chair

Like the palm of a giant

Where I could always find you


New Yorker


on ice


That’s where I ran –

The bee sting on my toe

The bully, so mean

The nothing,

The quiet

My stringy hair between your hands and a kiss

goodnight –


10 yr old legs crisscrossed at the wrist

watching Gilda Radner, Sid Ceaser

I could not leave until I understood the best of the

best –


It can’t possibly be empty

though it is

Ottoman upside down

in the palm of the giant.