The Rose City Riveters

The drums hit first:through the concrete, up the shins,into the ribs of Providence Parkuntil the bones kept time.Thousands of throats … Continue reading The Rose City Riveters

Small Corrections in the Wild

Today I put eight copies of my poetry collection into Little Free Libraries around Portland and Beaverton. I did not … Continue reading Small Corrections in the Wild

Drinking Town

Astoria, a drinking town with a fishing problem,is a phrase proudly printed on mugs and magnets.And when you spend a … Continue reading Drinking Town

The Stories We Tell

I was looking for a friend. That feels important to say first, because in retrospect I think I spent a … Continue reading The Stories We Tell

You Can’t Live in an Echo

There’s a version of methat still lives here,barefoot and unfinished,thinking the past is somethingyou can step back intoif you take … Continue reading You Can’t Live in an Echo

Before the Night Closes

I keep writing new versions of myself that sound open and easy. Ones that don’t ask for too much too … Continue reading Before the Night Closes

Reflections on the Willamette

I walk towards the river, the night behind me is too close, too loud, too heavy. The silence the … Continue reading Reflections on the Willamette

The Confluence of River and Self

At the edge of the Willamette,I draw breath fromtree roots and cold sand.Dawn color gathers at the edgesswirling, prismatic silt. … Continue reading The Confluence of River and Self

Spirit Has Left the Meeting

I paid a TV psychic $200to talk to the deadfor less than 5 minutes.A séance over Zoomwith a gallery of … Continue reading Spirit Has Left the Meeting

Seventeen Junes

Your soul is lodged in my throat,as I drive through memorieslittered on Seattle streets. Sun-bleached and threadbarelike my favorite shirt—familiar, … Continue reading Seventeen Junes