When I edit my manuscript I put the poems with that old plum pit hate into the waste bin with the to-do lists bank statements…
You painted your toenails in the back seat while I white-knuckled the steering wheel, first time driving on the interstate, MapQuest directions folded in my…
Day 30 I am at the sink. Again. Near always. Washing vegetables. Washing dishes. Filling pots. Washing hands. Washing hands. Washing hands. My two-year-old is…
This poem is part of the Great Lakes Review’s Narrative Map project. The bike wobbles as he turns his head to say hello to the girl…