Ink Tea Stone Leaf

This July, I’m going to write a short poem (or a long one, who knows?) every day. I’ll post them once a week until the month is over. That pretty much explains it, I think.

July 11th, 2026

The neighborhood garage sale
attracts the bargain bin fiends,
the folks who'd gladly pay more
than what their neighbor asks for
a treasure trove, a rare find,
except the sticker says, clearly,
"Fifty Cents For All Books."

July 12th, 2026

Salmon skins, strips of hot and
crispy fish, appetizers
served up fresh, Sunday's best.

July 13th, 2026

Love, on some occasions,
means making dinner twice—
macaroni and cheese at midnight.

July 14th, 2026

Because we may not live in peace today,
the possibility of peace tomorrow
comforts us—and this has been our way
for all our history, for joy or sorrow.

July 15th, 2026

Madames Honesty and Patience
have a difference of opinion
on the practice of bestowing
virtue names on little girls—

the former claims it's out of fashion,
while the latter says she's certain
the new wave will come around
and bless the retro-Puritan Chic.

July 16th, 2026

I thank my area code,
the one that's followed me 
a thousand miles,
my happy souvenir of youth.
It's certain any call
that bears my area code
I may ignore,
unless I wish to answer lies.

July 17th, 2026

Five little boxes,
seven bags of potting soil—
peas, beans, cucumbers.