My Work
Click the categories below to for more information on my work.
Poetry | Forthcoming Publications | Sample Poems | Readings and Interviews | Selected Prose
Sample Poems
- PERSONAL BIRD & DEEP VEIN THROMBOSIS (two poems – external link to Diode)
- CRUSH (external link to Prairie Schooner)
- LETTER TO DR. M.
- A TOUR OF PAULINE HOT SPOTS…(external link to Green Mountains Review)
- DAY #4 (external link to Green Mountains Review)
- DIE HIGH (external link to Alaska Quarterly Review)
- BE WHERE YOUR HANDS ARE (external link to Verdad)
- IF YOU STEP OFF NOW (external link to Northwest Review)
- ARS DOMESTICA (external link to the Iowa Review)
- WHAT DID THE CHILDREN KNOW AND WHEN DID THEY KNOW IT?
- MUD CAP
- MIDWESTERN SUMMER: MY DEAD MOTHER AS MUSE
- NIGHT (external link to NEA Writers’ Corner)
- DELIVER US FROM EVIL (external link to the Michigan Quarterly Review)
- RIPTIDE MILAGRO (external link to Project Muse, Prairie Schooner)
- UNDER WATER (external link to The Virginia Quarterly Review)
- SWERVE (external link to Harvard Review)
Letter to Dr. M.
The Southern Review, Autumn 2014
Dear Dr. Maddingly, I’m writing
to let you know I took
seriously your admonition
not to go running for at least
three weeks until whatever the
vitreous jelly stuff that’s
making those gray shadows tree branches
flashing lights in the peripheral
vision of my right eye gets settled. In order
to prevent serious retinal problems
that require surgery. I did the
following alternate exercises:
riding—you did say I could
go riding—my friends and I laughed
at the stable about how you probably
OK’d riding because you don’t
know what it is. Most people
seem to think it’s sitting on a
horse! Ha ha! We love picturing
those people on a horse—or
my favorite—we love picturing
our bosses on horses!
How about riding a horse
in a tornado? I forgot to
ask about that. Restraining the
horse I just hopped
off of during the actual
blast as she stood on her
hind legs and waved her
forelegs. (I was in an indoor
arena, a barn—that counts for
something, right?) Or tornadoes
in general. Or rescuing
horses in a debris-strewn
windy pasture in the dark
after. Who are hysterical
and afraid. I hear today
the other side of the
arena was “badly damaged”—
would that be “torn off”? I didn’t
even see it, though I heard
a splintering crashing noise
that activated the
“This could be it” idea. My
therapist asked what I was
thinking. I said I was concentrating
on taking care of Ruth’s beloved
Vaydran, who is a pet who is
sweet, if obsessed with food,
and was frightened. I think
I thought I might end up under
a pile of lumber (my personal
euphemism, I guess) with her.
And I thought okay but was
ashamed that I had for this
one stupid time only not been
vigilant about warnings and even
more ashamed later when I
learned there had been twenty-five-plus
tornadoes in my area. That’s when
I learned shame would
probably be with me
at my death—my
default setting. Saliva
tears snot and the sense that
I’d done something irreparable.
The other thought in there
somewhere was that my accounts
were cleared, fairly, and “my
side of the street” was
clean. You see I was thinking
of my friend Karin who lay
in cardiac critical care
on life support—but with her
(heavily sedated) brain intact—
I was pretty ass angry about
that and not thinking one
speck about my retina
and its goo.
And then, Zumba—you didn’t
mention. I did it Saturday
after I’d learned about the induced
coma and today
after I learned she had died.
I went to Indianapolis to see her
yesterday. I forgot about
my retina! I swear
she knew me—my voice—
and was responding with
her eyebrows forehead
and chin. Had the nurses lightened
up her pain meds, or . . . ? I told
her I thought she would
make it. Denial has
its value though it does
make me forget to baby
my eye and to think
strictly of the letter of
the law rather than
the spirit when it comes
to your restrictions. Zumba is
fantastic! It is pure joy.
I knew it was the totally
right thing both times I
went. I tried not to jump.
I did the tossing yes
and a lot of pelvic
thrusting—fabulous—
it made me think of when
I was twenty and took modern dance
in a storefront on Magazine
Street in New Orleans with
a six-four sexy guy teacher and a live
conga drummer. My legs were
so long—as tonight—it
took me a split second
longer to swing them around
and up and down and I had to
compensate. The whole street
could see us and I didn’t care.
I’m in that mood now
too. Sixty and going to
get a shorter haircut so I can do more
sweaty things and wash it
in the shower anytime I
feel like it. So I can smell
like horse as often as I get
the opportunity. I truly
hope the Jell-O
is settling or recongealing
or whatever it’s supposed
to do. I’ll be in to let
you shine that huge lens
with the shocking
light behind it in there
and have me swivel
my eye to each of the numbers
on an imaginary
clock face to check it. Like you told
me to do when I was
in a week ago. Only a
week! (Look how hard
I’ve tried to obey.) And two more
to go. I don’t think I’ll
be able to invent
anything else to bend the
rules. Joy, Dr. M. Joy! The body!
I love your soft hands on my
face. Your voice. I’ve always
loved you. More about
that later. Yes, I’m still
seeing a few shadow branches
and twigs dangling around
my visual windshield. In the deep
dark of my right peripheral
vision, some brilliant meteor showers.
Let me tell you, Tom (may
I call you Tom?), I got lucky
twice. The tornado.
And landing in my friend’s one
conscious window. No one
can explain that. Her sighs,
the movement of her chin,
her raised eyebrow and
her wrinkled forehead. The
sighs showed up on the
breathing monitor and there was
occasionally a skipped
heartbeat (“not atypical”
the call nurse said). Karin, I waited
for Joe, the nurse I liked,
“your” nurse, to return from
lunch because I felt the nurse
in the hall screwing around with
a laptop was not adequately
solicitous. She said some woman
managed to get through on the phone
from Michigan. The woman said you
were driving by one day
and saw her Chow attacked
by some pit bulls—and stopped and
saved him/her. She heard you
were ill and wanted to inquire.
I didn’t tell you. I wanted
you to myself. I inscribed a cross
on your forehead as a priest
taught me to do a long time
ago, then apologized—
you weren’t big on God.
I had two lucky opportunities.
In the cross hairs of
bad weather and the Cardiac
Critical Care Unit. I don’t
know why. I don’t
believe in a personal favor
kind of god. Love
and Godspeed to you Karin.
And Dr. M., Tom, I’ll try
not to get in any more
trouble—will take it all
in the hips, rather than jumping
up and down, in Zumba,
and ride a horse just by sitting there
as you must have envisioned—will
see you in two weeks, after
the holidays, the travel,
my friend flying along beside
me, as she did in life, I don’t
doubt, and you somewhere
waiting with your clock face,
your lovely kind voice and
soft steady hands, peering
into my eyes’ dark depths
with your “opthalmoscope,” I
just found out it’s called, its
searching magnifying light.
WHAT DID THE CHILDREN KNOW AND WHEN DID THEY KNOW IT?
What Did the Animals Know and When Did They Know It?
Wall Street Journal, Jan. 4, 2005
MUD CAP
MIDWESTERN SUMMER: MY DEAD MOTHER AS MUSE