Tears come
The tears start at the back of the eye. I suppress all thoughts of death and blink several times. They retreat. I press my…
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The Death Idol
The moon cannot, it has no mercy for the drowned names. But someone will remember, yes? The generations exchanging hands. Only the joys of…
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A daughter’s perspective on the Kalamazoo cyclist tragedy
Certain tragedies are so unbelievable, immediately soaking up the nation’s consciousness like a thirsty sponge, that they become synonymous with a community’s name. Think:…
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Dresses of them
Last October a weekend away unraveled into seven days of limbo. I was thankful that the vintage black dress with gold buttons, which I…
Read MoreDeath & Taxes
But you have missed the snowdrops’ promised rise Again, buried me in a blizzard of forms As surely as you have gone to the worms,…
Read MoreWhere You’re Going
Your shambling walk becomes a sacrament I pray to every morning. And when you wake, I see you there, in my imagination, pulling on…
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Blueberry Bruce
Planted a sandy pile far back past the swing-set in full sun over top that dead dog buried there. And as worms ribbon in…
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Learning to live on both sides of the river
Editor’s note: Each Thursday, we feature a throwback piece from Topology’s predecessor, catapult magazine. In this 2002 piece, Bill Boerman-Cornell reviews a book worth…
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The ways of water
We sight the mornings softly Take to them easy The scent of the wood and coffee Our cup is filling Outside the river flows…
Read MoreAbsence
Three varieties of forsythia, all removed. A loss. Have they been moved, to be reconstructed? Without these three bodies I have lost remembrance. Their…
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