Photo by Steve Johnson

by Judy DeCroce


I almost knew what was true
when events were nearer.

Decades change,
are stilled—

Someone calls…
I’m busy again . . .

others fall away, forgotten
on those back porches of the mind.

a crime of forgetting—
those I said I wouldn’t.


On Ordinary Mornings

The beginning is everything.
The parachute falls
lower and lower.
We search inside while
secrets skim here and
there with no one to blame.
As shadows move away
we pull at youth and laugh.

And again,
we’re all right.