MY NAME IS KATHLEEN, my father he used to say the ocean had a memory. When I was a girl, I thought he meant tides and storms the way water always seemed to come back to the same places, to the same worn posts and docks, as if recognized them. But as I sit now,… Read more: RUBYWAY

The sky is gray,the water just as gray—veins of bluepushing throughlike arteries beneath the skin.The horizonflickers with promiseof a better day.But another dark cloudslides into the channel.The water roughens,turns restless.Ducks becomebathtub toys—bobbing, dipping,upand down.

THIN ICE Ponds glisten in the sunOnly a few are still frozen— It may hold untilSpring.January storms turn pine needles to ice,a winter gemBut big trees have lost branches.Frost hangs from them burning in the late sun.Half ice and half thawBut the treetops gleam like starspoints of light dancing.A duck stands at the edge wavering–one… Read more: THIN ICE