Kimberley Pittman-Schulz

Remembering Pablo He understood. Each of us is a pulse of sound, scrap of cadence, shaky rhythm doubting itself, random song sputtering along in the redwood duff. What he did was listen to himself. Who does that? He rapped and rattled, playing it all out, sending himself ahead of himself. Among the waves glittering, chewing […]

  If I could see the end coming, I would wait for it. Where? Beside the sumacs, under the beech where the animals I’ve grieved are a trellis of bones. I’d ask the Carolina wren to spill out her song, and as the world condensed, hyacinths, peonies, stargazing lilies would bloom together, bathing everything in […]

Once there was a woman speaking poems, whispering…

First a scallop shell for holding in your…

Full moon: from the trees, shadows spillas if…

What we call poor must be more than…

Rain’s back, redwood stumps sliding further into duff….

Pursed blooms of manzanita and blood-red buds of…

I thought: it’s only brown water, a hand,…

For every two steps, four paws pressed sand….

Who can find that other place- clouds torn…

Your mind wants to say a logging road…