Tag Archives: M. J. Iuppa

Looking out the kitchen window, I run my eye over the remoteness of the back yard & take an inventory of what remains the same… The way the watering can never moves from its station beneath the crabapple tree, or … Continue reading →

These mornings taste of iron; somehow, its bitter tang doesn’t wash off the tongue but stays in the back of the throat, like a cry that suits the constant hunger of just-hatched robins, wanting their bellies full be- fore it’s … Continue reading →

In late October, a Sunday afternoon doesn’t last for long. The front lawn’s littered with soggy sycamore leaves & it looks deceptively cold outside, but it isn’t. Wind pushes things around, seemingly shiftless in its going no place special, like … Continue reading →

If I knew the precise hour that’s natural as uncertain weather, that’s neither winter or spring, but something that insinuates itself in a blank sky, I would be guilty of living detached yet watchful of a wall that casts its … Continue reading →