I Hate Walmart
“I pass an aisle of travel mugs in different colors, and sizes, with Disney characters, Duck Dynasty members, motorcycle riders and flowers growing in orange… Read More »I Hate Walmart
Lenore's collections include "Tap Dancing on the Silverado Trail" (2011) from Finishing Line Press, “Sh’ma Yis’rael” (2007) from Pudding House Publications, and "Cutting Down the Last Tree on Easter Island" (West End Press, 2012). Her writing has won recognition from Poets&Writers (finalist in California Voices contest) and as a finalist for Pablo Neruda Prize, Nimrod International Journal. The Society for Technical Communication has recognized her work regarding Technical Literacy in the schools. All material is copyrighted on this site and cannot be used without the author's permission.
“I pass an aisle of travel mugs in different colors, and sizes, with Disney characters, Duck Dynasty members, motorcycle riders and flowers growing in orange… Read More »I Hate Walmart
I looked for you riding the down escalator on my way to the bargain table at Alexander’s where you used to take me to find… Read More »Whippoorwill
Trees shrug leaves like rusted appliances no one wants. New leaves grow without a discount they can’t recant. And see my recent review of “Coming… Read More »Tree Consumers
For a big man, you left a small footprint, on your shoulders people created arabesques, formed pyramids as I watched from the edge of a… Read More »Yahrzeit Candle
I wear a young woman’s body, my skin taut and burning bright, scrubbed clean with a loofah, the scent of lavender or rose tucked away… Read More »Whenever We Make Love
Down the street, rather along Highway 165, I turned off at Cross Keys Bank to open an account and deposit a check from West End Press in… Read More »Living Around the Bayou
Dueling election signs on front lawns. On the right, a candidate condemns the federal government, another appears on TV and says nothing . She grabs… Read More »Shut Down
In the cigar smoke of an autumn day as pecans dropped to the ground, he drove his SUV to a cream-colored building at the outskirts of a university where students and others in need of fifty dollars toward a bag of groceries lined up for a number.
Whenever we took the subway to Orchard Beach,
my father held my hand until the last stop
at Pelham Bay Park where we waited for the bus
to drop us off behind the bath house.
Broken-in shoes gather molded arches beneath an army of dangling limbs. Some wait, collars upturned, yearning to be made whole. Bare wire hangers dig meatless… Read More »Civil War