To Dig a Grave

To Dig a Grave

We dig our father’s grave with a post hole digger.My younger brother jabs the double blade into the dark soil.Across the creek, coyotes yowl to the dusk.We’re not used to hearing them.They weren’t around when we grew up near here. My brother rests against the...
Most Sunday mornings

Most Sunday mornings

Joe takes the dog to the service station;feeds him donuts. Sometimes chocolate frosted.Can’t poison this dog—he’s a Lab.They hang out for awhile,listening to the regulars hold forth from theirregular spots on oil-stained folding chairsset at the edge of the bay. It’s...
Margaret Rozga: Wisconsin Poet Laureate

Margaret Rozga: Wisconsin Poet Laureate

Peggy Rozga calls to apologize, says she is running late. She’s been working on a poem and lost track of the hour. There’s not enough time to have dinner before the reading in Madison, but perhaps enough to get a bowl of soup and a loaf of fresh bread to take home to...
Drawn Out

Drawn Out

Reticent, needs drawing out, Miss Rinehart scribbled on my sixth-grade report card. I vowed to never return, but instead found myself rehearsing for the class play. Co-stars Eugene and I headed a cast of tall flowers played by the pluckier pupils whose costumes were...
The Mission

The Mission

She chops onions dumps themin black beans garnishedwith overcooked porkadds cumin and rosemaryleftover out-of-dateserendipity for the poorlined neatly on the other sidethe first wears ski pants in summersmiles at her then bends to sharehis dream of a perfect...