Tag Archives: M. J. Iuppa

A Break in Weather

First autumn morning after a stubborn stretch of summer heat, I drink coffee on the porch, wondering if the magnolia’s pale pink blooms will last longer than a day before dropping onto the strait of yellow grass.                                     No wind to … Continue reading

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Hats, hanging

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

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Season of Ceremony

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

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A Sky Full of Shadowy Beasts

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

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In the Gloom of Late April

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

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Doesn’t Everything Mean Something?

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

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Next Time

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

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Hey, Let’s Have A Drink

Sticky notes. 500 neon squares. Enough to leave a detailed message on his new cobalt blue Mustang. She said it in bold felt tip. It took the better part of a day to write. She waited for darkness to settle in before … Continue reading

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Sidekick

She knows you—the sound of your quick step, your considered breath, your cottony voice, unfolding like a Best of All quilt that comforts her; comforts you, too. Your tongues grow thick with imposition— greasy burgers wrapped in leafy lettuce and house chardonnay. It’s … Continue reading

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Report If There Is Something Wrong

From the sidelines, it appears to be a game called happiness. There’s an assemblage of 24+ sun-struck selfies, showing spicy tacos and industrial-strength margaritas. Someone asks about the weather, the water, the sticky sand stuck in between toes. The husband sleeps off the … Continue reading

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This Little Thing

One year ago, an October brimming with uncertainty, and now standing before Ontario’s choppy waters, I turn to pick up a leaf that’s redder than the rest, lying one on top of the other, beneath the sugar maple’s wide stance, … Continue reading

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Just So You Know You’re There

In the middle of nowhere, a field described in fiction, without cattle or farmhand or an abandoned car left underneath a scrub tree that endures drought and flood and the intermittent buzz, stands fallow with its impression of wild carrot … Continue reading

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More Than I Know

Not the blistered frame of the church that sits too close to the tracks, or its windows now mercurial in day- light’s surrender—no, this seems to be more than I know about living here, even though I have lived here … Continue reading

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Garlic Redux

Spring, again. Musty scent of earth anchors us in the south garden, where we find what we thought lost. Hardneck garlic—once mail-ordered bulbs that arrived two weeks late—yellowed wisps of nothing planted last summer with an outside chance of being … Continue reading

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Open Suitcase

While a lone moth batters your bedroom’s overhead light, you pack your suitcase. This isn’t a trip to grandma’s house, that alphabetical memory game of things to take with you. Although, you have made a list and know it’s best … Continue reading

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Warning Signs

Once again, autumn has come around with its precision of sun, rain, wind, shuffling colors: buttery yellow, mallow, shell-shocked red in the woods that rarely suppresses itself. We walk a straight line, following a jittery light on the ground that’s … Continue reading

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Everyday Eccentrics

Restless air stirs our atmosphere, in- side and out—clouds of fruit flies grow thinner in the steady steam of putting by as glass jars line up like an infantry on the dining room table, ready to be marched to the … Continue reading

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The Truth Be Told

Driving along Route 19, heading north, this morning’s drizzle isn’t the winter I expect in January, in a sunken rural patch. The dreary lake sky becomes a water-stained backdrop to a farmhouse with its collapsed barn bound in wild grape … Continue reading

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Reprieve

A stone, a feather, a shell—Ontario’s winter shoreline, windswept steps fade away in a stretch of blue sand where a smoky horizon smudges a temporal seal of sky & water—its subconscious, rising like cold moonlight on a path that tilts … Continue reading

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It Happened Again

1. Late October blooms—zinnia and marigold confetti found at the foot of the sycamore that slowly undresses itself, back to the rinse of wind, leaf by mottled leaf—like a nude, turning modestly into a bath… 2. Hardly a calm afternoon … Continue reading

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Another Selfie

What woke me this morning wasn’t the robin in the crabapple, its insistent summons of sweet-sweet-low, or the steamy gush of the coffee dripping to its brim, or the phone’s set ring tone of Custer’s cavalry charge; and it certainly … Continue reading

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Blueberries

At the Mennonite auction, flats of blueberries, whole and plump, big as nickels, tempt me. My hand itches to filch one or two off the top-heavy pint closest to me. Just to hold its taste on my tongue; let its … Continue reading

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Acceptance or Rejection?

Painstaking, that was the end of the decade pronounced emphatically, ‘The Nineteen Seventies.’ I carried my portable Corona typewriter, room to room, trying to get away from the complaints of family and friends who refused to leave me alone. Clickety-clack … Continue reading

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We Stopped at Onondaga Lake Before Coming Home

Remembering his words, like eating a sweet haven peach, and not being prepared for the juice to burst in its ripeness, dripping everywhere, and so sticky that it was hard to wipe it up, even the smell lingered for most … Continue reading

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Deliverance

Full moon, bald moon, moon, like a poached egg, floating in a skillet’s hot bath, rises up in the slotted spoon, drip-dries above clotted clouds, and sets to rest on buttered whole wheat toast. Moon-faced—something easy to eat when you … Continue reading

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