Category Archives: Poet’s Life

2026, Day Book, Ohio River Valley Literature, Poet's Life, poetry, prose, the no-scape

Daybook 2026 // Winter 2.5.26

I call out to the universe for certain objets nostalgiques, certain elements of memory, on a regular basis: a mimeograph machine and a VCR. My mind palace has an entire wing dedicated to abandoned technologies and to technologies that have almost disappeared. It is possible to find the VCR, but I am unwilling to pay 1980 prices in 2026 just because digital wisps of movies and music are easier to change, to edit, to take away when they get added to the invisible List of Naughty Items,  or the List of Watched Objects of True Desire.

These lists
are not
what
small town
church 
taught
us
they
are

I call out to the universe for certain objects. I teach my granddaughter that magic is real by letting her hold this pink magic wand that was gifted to me by a true-hearted witch. The girl wished for dark chocolate and for more books, both of which arrived, quite naturally, before the end of her visit and through no direct action on my part. We are true, I tell her, the real deal. It is, I think, a necessary way to introduce her to the natural world of dreaming.

These worlds
are not
what
history books
taught 
us
they 
should
be

I call out.

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2026, Day Book, Ohio River Valley Literature, Poet's Life, poetry, prose, the no-scape, winter

Daybook 2026 // Winter 2.3.26

“Footprints” Doodle by Mick Parsons

She looks out the window and spits out the word ‘melt,’ the worst curse she can think of against a layer of ice and snow that will not relent. In milder winters, it was that the mosquitoes didn’t die and the backyard mud carried in by the dogs. We have dug out of this mild inconvenience as best we can. I put my faith in her curses more than the snow plow that never touches our street. There are tales of an old International Harvester with a snow plow and an engine that does not die, but code enforcement actively silences these rumors. But waiting for spring is still considered a carnal act of rebellion.

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2026, Day Book, Ohio River Valley Literature, Poet's Life, poetry, prose, the no-scape, winter

Daybook 2026 // Winter 1.30.26

This is the time of seeds. Of waiting and taking nourishment. There is order to the seasons. The bones know spring is coming even if the view doesn’t quite reflect it. Winter sun on the thin ravaged skin of snow and ice, dug out and dug in, still blinds. We squint, each day a brand new rapture and begin again. And again. And. Again. The roots that grow tickle and ache, an impossible to ignore arthritis. Let us then celebrate the death and life and death, make snow cream, see the muddy tracks we leave through the yard, and live. Because there is no other option. Must.

must
must
must
these aches
must
must
must
sing sing
sing sing
sing sing
must must
must again
and again
and again
must again
and 
sing
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