March 30, 2008 by Melanie Alberts.

making love
without our rings on–
coyotes raise
their voices every night
at the same time

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March 25, 2008 by Melanie Alberts.

Three days ago, on the second day of Spring, I was bitten by a spider. While in our backyard to retrieve a fallen bird feeder, I felt a pinprick on my left index finger and assumed at the time that it was from brushing up against a sharp plant. The next day I noticed what appeared to be a cut above the first knuckle of my finger but it was painful…perhaps it was a splinter. I squeezed out some puss, washed it for several minutes under running water, put on antibiotic cream and a bandage. I watched it during the day, noticing that a bright circle of pinkness was spreading from the cut and the pain was increasing. I took off the bandage and sighed at what I thought was a pretty bad infection. The next morning there was a raised, pink ring of hard skin around a center puncture. Co-workers said it looked just like a brown recluse spider bite. My boss implored me to leave early for my doctor’s appointment and once there, they quickly made an appointment for me to see a surgeon.

I had a procedure called a debridement early this morning. There was plenty of necrosis, or dead skin, for my doctor to dig out and now I am taking plenty of painkillers and my finger is in a splint, heavily bandaged. Before my treatment the doctor suggested that the bite may have been from a black widow. Who knows? I wish I had seen what gave me that quick little nibble, but my attention was on the birdfeeder in the high weeds under our deck. I noticed yesterday that the feeder was knocked down again. I think it’ll stay there for a while, protected by my fear of disturbing something more rare, hidden by wildflowers not quite ready to bloom.

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March 19, 2008 by Melanie Alberts.

Over Spring Break construction workers replaced six windows in our suite. Their reason was soundproofing– that certain side of the building faces a veterinarian’s office and barking from the dogs boarding during the day is bad for business. My desk is alongside one such window. It used to be a single pane and thin enough to allow through any animal sounds or the slightest wind. I became accustomed to wearing layers to keep warm as I worked. Sometimes a dog’s wail would cause me to turn toward the window and wonder what was wrong. Now the window is doubled and the exterior siding padded with limestone blocks. I’m not as cold and still, without warning, a muted howl or persistent yelp will come through the stone walls, through the glass, and cause me to raise my head, a flash of worried eyes looking back at me.

old windows—
poetry comes through
unexpected places

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March 18, 2008 by Melanie Alberts.

after the rain
an unsold house shows
its secrets—
rivulets of crushed granite
sparkle in the street

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March 6, 2008 by Melanie Alberts.

those neighbors
they will never be like us
with their dark windows
dank garden beds, stalled
cars on their tongues

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