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Born in California, now living in Sussex. I am drawn by imaginative associations… memory, landscape, ideas, paintings, words. Writing, for me, is a tool for seeing; making connections, refining perception, always a search, some kind of amorphous truth the goal.
September sunlight. The kind of blue-skied morning
it was hard to be in school.
On our way to the river
we have breakfast at the Fingerbone cafe; then,
carrying the ashes – which are strangely heavy –
scramble down dry pine needles, grey rock.
The water gleams; a current eddies.
How to change an end? Erase the pain?
She was so tiny for her great rage.
Every year someone drowns, my aunt says.
As I reach my hands out over the water, I remember
a painting of the young Baptist. He’s climbing
toward the wilderness. Insouciant.
No limits to his innocence.
The landscape looks to him for light.
He swings his bundle from a stick.
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