On Holding Hands

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I Wish To Know You

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Words

About Bob

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Smiling at the paper:  it’s telling him a secret (the secret of the margin-labyrinth) Look at the sky—it’s much closer here. Hazel starry The long eyelashes.       (more...

Summer Time

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I can’t think about summer enough. The gooey melancholy warm inside me like FAT Krinkle-Kut French Fries dipped in ketchup In between pool games and juke box...

Jupiter in Taurus

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I press the snooze button on my alarm three times and then finally wake up happy I step in to the outfit already laid out, place my foot in...

Going Back to Bed

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Going back to bed is the ultimate adult dream Subject of snooze button thoughts                 Excuses Reasons they may have closed...

Arguing with Something My Dharma Teacher Said

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There was a bumper sticker in Colorado in the 90’s that said, “Shit Happens” — you remember the one? The next one was a...

Be Patient, Flower Girl

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Be patient, flower girl. Take time to grow, Teach the importance of knowing. Taking a look at perspective It is always changing. Leave dried seed heads and grasses Pruned back...

While Your Parents Danced

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in the next room, their heels skimming over dark oak to Sinatra and Como and Bennett crooning from the dusty stereo, we lay in your small bed, sheets thrown...

On my Mom’s dying

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She saw my first breath. I saw her last. And, in between,      many days of      smiles, shouts,      puddles, clouds      thoughts deluded, denuded,      eluded...

The Hawk Upon the Garden

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The robins flutter-bathed cautiously around me. I on the lounge, I laid with my book. The wrens fluster-sung to my proximity. The chicks demand-chirped from their nook inside...

baker’s daughter

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before the sun is fully crested over the barns, I pull the yellowy creams from the chest and let them soften into mornings first familiar yawn. Peeling...

Still Life

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Imagine being free from technology Listening to wind borne symphonies And the silence of shadows Listen.   Kristen Marshall is an artist, writer and a founding member of Boulder Rights...

It’s Not Too Late

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Walking around the lake this afternoon, something about the cottonwood leaves, strewn along the shore, and how the colors glowed, and the reflections in the water slowed me...