My poem, Wounded, is up at Poetica Review. Here is the poem:


The phone rang
but I hesitated
to take Jim’s call.

Are we born
with the need
to avoid

human misery?
Perhaps that
is the source

of accusation—
witch, warlock
bad things happen

around you.
And Jim had
more than his share.

It wasn’t
like he complained.
He rarely did,

but I was afraid
I’d catch
his unhappiness.

I thought I detected
a sob in his voice—
his mutt Felix had run off

and Felix was all he had
left. We scrambled
the neighborhood

and searched for hours til Felix
came wandering back
at dusk, hungry

and thirsty
and unaware of the crisis
he had caused.

Clear and very cold tonight.
but for now, at least,
we would all stay warm.

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