Lenore Weiss

I did not go looking for Mable Pyne. She found me. Knowing I enjoyed books, my partner’s daughter gifted me with The Little Geography of the United States. As far as

I will be at Clio’s March 26, 7-9pm with Lee Rossi and Paul Corman Roberts. Each of us will share from published work, offering glimpses of where we started, where

Mable Pyne, the name sounds like a character from a book written by Carson McCullers, southerly with a lonely heart, she doesn’t give too much away and stands upright like

Deer bite off the heads of my coreopsis, yellow sunbursts of blossoms I was hoping to see every morning outside my window, but now only sad stumps are left leaning

Dry grass falls down the hill like an old man’s whiskers sticking out every which-way; I’m driving on the road where fog roosts in branches until it warms up later

Ever since Christmas, malls have knocked off 20 percent from their original reduced prices. I hear Dean Martin crooning, “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” his voice still trapped in rotation