Category: Poetry

Beauty wakes me early, while it is still dark and says, Come and see what you missed.

Beauty lives in minutiae: the way a familiar crow cocks his head, how light enters the boughs of the pine tree in my yard, the distinct scents that arise when I’m cooking a meal.

Beauty can be obvious in the music of Mozart, but it can be almost missed if you don’t notice the way light hits kitschy toys in the windows of a souvenir shop.

Beauty is intermittent, moves back and forth through time, is equally restless in space, improvisatory, until stilled onto the page by the voice of address and regret

I come from a long line of women with nimble fingers,
born in the Cumberland’s shadow.