At the Martin House


Near the senior citizen home in Fowler

saw a family get-together at the Martin house

Many Martins chatted, chirped, peeped at the top of their lungs

on the roof of their house

on the second floor, wrap-around balcony

on the first floor, wrap-around balcony

They gazed down on me walking past

Talked about me with each other

until I unlocked the car remotely

and the car chirp disrupted their cozy gathering

scattering them all over the blue sky


A Different Kind of Cookie

Drowning with gloom, mists, tears

I float above bright white clouds

hiding the gloom, mists, rains

on the world below

me clouds world

like a sandwich cookie

only not as sweet


This written while riding on United from San Diego to Chicago to Wichita on the early morning of June 10 after being told that my husband had been hospitalized in Dodge because of blood clots in his legs and lungs.  The doctor’s there have since saved his life and my husband is recovering nicely.





Out of the Ordinary Barnacles


West of Wichita, large, brown, mud barnacles

form close together along the outer sides of bridges

with dark open mouths facing traffic

No ocean waves lap or plunge around the bridges

just the constant surge of wind, dust, exhaust, rain

Clustered birds’ nests, glued to the cement

sheltered from the elements

Land versions of the real creatures

attached to beach rocks, piers, and ship bottoms