After Hours: "Waking Up Together"

I am grateful to the editors of After Hours: A Journal of Chicago Writing and Art for publishing my poem “Waking Up Together” in Issue #25. After Hours is a semi-annual literary magazine publishing poetry, fiction, art, and photography from Chicago area writers and artists. Having spent some of my most formative years in Chicago, it’s an honor to be a contributor. This journal is print-only, and you can order a copy by following the instructions under “back issues” here.

Waking up Together

Barely awake, we float
across our bed like clouds
over undulating dunes
and valleys of lush loam.
Sleep-mist lifts over parched lips,
and our feet move like nomads
toward the warmth of each other.


Our most secret places
have buried their keys
inside the swirls of our fingerprints,
and we slip into each other’s hands
promising suggestions—
unopened letters carried by envoys
returning to their homeland.

Front Porch Review: "The Light Within"

My poem “The Light Within” was originally published in Front Porch Review. As their website says, “a front porch is where we, young and old, congregate; where we assemble, gather, mingle, congeal, where we get together. And once there we speculate, pontificate, prevaricate, and expostulate; occasionally we speak words of universal truth.” My poem follows:

The Light Within

When the seeds of my body rose and swelled my bones, a constant presence remained behind the facade of aging.

Like a candle moving from window to window inside someone else’s home, the creature of my youth restlessly paces.

Apiary Magazine and Grasslimb Journal: “Between Blizzards”

“Between Blizzards” was originally published in Apiary (September 2010) and Grasslimb (v.12, n.1, print-only).

Between Blizzards

Snow clouds piled again
and loomed in the sky
like silos packing
all the dark weight
of a late wet harvest.

The last planes out at sundown
were silver sleds
with chrome-dipped wings
snapping through life strings
tethered to trees–
winter’s glint-shafts of thinning heat.

Shops closed early,
and folks still bent for home
scurried with narrow gaits over icy trails
like high-rise workers on lattices of steel.

Then the sky paused and took
its last shallow breath,
exhaling a prelude of aimless snow.

And we knew this was it:
the final signal to seal ourselves in
and brace for the lashings
of night’s whipping winds
sweeping beneath street lights,
in that deceiving, moth-soft glow,
relentless rough-cut shavings
tearing through every space
moaning and drifting
in gables and yards
into corners and doorways,
all the depths of night’s folds⁠—
as the edges crept in closer
from where they were before.