Judith Alexander Brice: My Papa’s Music
We weren’t a talking family
especially when it came
to discussing why I locked myself
in the bathroom upstairs
Judith Alexander Brice: Fledgling Times
The leaves are burnished still,
yet many
bear shades of fall— hints of
ocher, carmine, umber-wheat.
Judith A. Brice: Prolepsis of Emerald
On the calendar we see the bold square, marking the number 21 in March, marking our hope, our deep breath— 21, our emerald prolepsis, our brain’s fast synapse between withdrawal … Continue reading
Judith A. Brice: To Charlie, Beyond the Mist
Will the mist have vanished from the lake by the time you read this? — birthday note to Charlie from a good friend What she couldn’t know was your eyes warm … Continue reading
Judith Brice and Charles W. Brice: Two Winter Poems
. Today, Of White After ‘Early Spring Thaw’ by Di Brandt Today my bones shudder and shake— quake with the wanton cold of winter her snows of white … Continue reading
