Poems About L

Today is not special. No one circled it on a calendar.

June gives us the longest day and we still waste most of it talking about the weather.

The kettle hisses its slow complaint— ssssssss— like a secret it's been holding since last night.

Tonight the world gives us permission to be something else.

My father's chair still faces the window where he watched the street as if expecting a delivery

The score doesn't matter. I know it does. I know there are people who will read that sentence and close the poem.

There is an age— somewhere between three and five— when a child discovers the most powerful word in any language.

The best basketball happens after the game. When the gym is locked and the scoreboard is off.

You dreamed something important last night. I know this because you always do.

I know you don't want a poem about a spider. But consider.

Scotland is not a country. Scotland is a weather system with opinions.

Summer is the season that forgets to end on time—it lingers at the shore like a guest who loves your house more than you do.