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Tag Archives: M. J. Iuppa
on the antler rack, hats holding the shape of your head—hats stained with sweat & smell of work, the way you’ve thought it through this life that comes from dirt. Straw hat, cloth hat, checkered hat lost, then found on … Continue reading
When I pull my brown cotton gloves on, I know what close work lies ahead. Our small decorative gardens are a confusion of weeds and flowers, waiting for my careful pincher technique—to lift, separate, and pull in one clean motion without … Continue reading
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