Every morning while I was in high school, I woke up, Before my alarm clock could begin its insistent cajoling. I woke up in the dark, To deep vibrations, Like a battering ram, On my bedroom door. My dark room would sound like voices underwater, Or maybe what a fetus hears From the center of… Continue reading School Mornings
Poets have much to say about joyful mornings, fairy twilights, and hushed starlight. But do you know what my favorite light is? You will never guess it. It’s barely a light at all. It only occurs when I’m in bed, and my room is ink black. But the yellow hallway light slices through the… Continue reading My Favorite Light
After my Grandpa’s memorial service, we all crowded into my Grandma’s condo, family spilling out the back patio and the front entrance. Many of the faces there I hadn’t seen in months or years. A few people I had never met before. Kids ran around; adults ate and talked and drank and laughed loudly. More… Continue reading The Funeral (Part 2)
I hesitate to write this. There is nothing I can add that hasn’t already been said about my Grandpa. Here, I am speaking of the Reverend Norman Heintz, my mother’s father. Many people knew and loved him throughout his life and ministry. Last December, on the trip to say goodbye to a man we dearly… Continue reading The Funeral (Part 1)
“I’ve something to show ya,” Grandpa would say, His hushed voice just above a whisper. Dutifully I would follow him, And sit on his uncomfortable lap, Trapped by his arms on both sides That are holding a book in front of me, In his favorite, blue-plaid chair. Undoubtedly, The book would be a Nature… Continue reading “I’ve Got Something to Show Ya.”
I don’t normally write poetry. Posting poetry makes me as self-conscious as a person auditioning for a solo in the spring play. With that aside, I wrote this when my Grandma was still living. Can’t wait to see her again someday. I probably got a few of the names wrong, but oh well. My grandma… Continue reading My Grandma Talks
The scene is golden, with the flashing, setting sun blinding us through the windshield. Everything outside our car is melting into the sun: the road, the passing fields and trees, the houses. Everything is tinted gold and brown, like an old western movie. I sit in the shot gun seat, shoulder to shoulder with my… Continue reading Memories of Wonton Soup
Finding Love in Wonton Soup 