New Poet

Many of you (okay, 2/3 of you) know that I’m a big fan of tiny poetry –– i.e. poems, like Kay Ryan’s, that look like toothpicks laid out across the page, or ones that, like Ogden Nash’s, are quip-sized morsels of verse.  That’s why I was so pleased to stumble upon the work of Opal Miller, who it seems is a recluse with a checkered past to boot!  My favorite!  Below is a Ryan, a Nash, and a Miller, just because it’s Monday and I know it’s been tough for you.  (I’ve staggered them as well.  I thought that might be helpful for you.  You’re welcome.)


We turn out

as tippy as

eggs.  Legs

are an illusion.

We are held

as in a carton

if someone

loves us.

It’s a pity

only loss

proves this.


Always Marry an April Girl

Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered languor,
April cold with sudden anger,
Ever changing, ever true —
I love April, I love you.


The Balloon

What happens if the black balloon

bursts as the tide goes out and

the wax drips and

she falls?



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