Linda's Poems

I think I've chosen my word for the new year. It's been slipping softly into my thoughts for the last few weeks tinting each day wit...

Finale Palm trees are sweeping the clouds up into piles of spilled sugar. My husband is sitting on the porch listening to music and drinking...

The End I check the mail, see an envelope from my sister, and know it's the end. I wait to open it, drive to the beach, get s...

Thursday 2/16/06 Block 3 Open the Box I don't dare. Not yet. The ribbons are still tied with a red bow. But, that color is a hint I'...

Tuesday 2/7/06 Block 2 Stranger When my husband looks at me, he sees a wife making his supper, putting his next day's lunch together, br...

January 24, 2006 Block 1 Sunday with Kylie When I left you on Sunday afternoon, you were curled on your side like a fiddlehead fern newly sp...

Tuesday 3/18/08 At the Other End of the Street Sometimes we played baseball: rocks for home plate and second, a crack on the sidewal...