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by KJ Hannah Greenberg




New England Woodland Garden


Small hedgehogs’ broken quills evidence the fact of feline busybodies.

Nigh, grasshoppers, crickets, besides iridescent beetles, assume liberties

With my new lettuce, flowering tomatoes, and aging peas. Mere meters

Away, a groundhog pretends not to be snuffling in the leaf mould of my

Cold compost pile, else digging toward its assembly of obliging worms.


Mass marketed hearts, plus heirlooms, alike, fare poorly here, where

Sunshine’s less common than brambles, violets, bluebells, also skunk

Cabbage. Hungry deer, further, freely appraise this buffet which isn’t

Ordinary trilliums or toothwort. Ants, mice, chipmunks, meanwhile,

Help themselves to seeds barely burst from their shells, not sprouted.


Back indoors, among footnotes, quotes from primary sources, midst

Other dreary remnants flagging my graduate student brain, I cogitate

On woodlands, surrounding boscages, coppices filled with red maple,

Balsam poplar, white cedar, paper birch, likewise pine, where scarce

Strung rows of beans, carrots, turnips realize maturity, kitchen tables.


Rather, it’s best to keep to baking pumpkin muffins in frosty seasons,

To clearing walks by shoveling, to waiting for snowplows, to praising

Dates above freezing. It’s September’s potages, not March’s radishes

That round the local seasons. Car batteries, cords of firewood, as well

As leaving birdseed for chipmunks cull more attention than my squash.




a line, (a short blue one)



Heeding our Youngsters’ Artifacts


That we heed our youngsters’ artifacts, like architecture, cookware,

Is easily substantiated.

Our society embraces media makers’ fusillades over rhetoric from  

Empowered folks.


Merely targeting attention legitimately negotiates other peoples’


Interpersonal peregrinations end poorly when we won’t commit

“Necessary” resources.


If grappling with beloveds insistent on changing our bath minerals,

Else our herbal conditioners,

Best, we come to terms with their cannonades, ignore all products’

Meaning of “beauty.”


Still, once discussing matters with golden year felines, conferring

With hounds,

No matter how mainstream, how important, our kids’ tenets stick

For eternity.


Sure, we’ll douse select menu items with cod liver oil, cause

Our scions

To scrub away their traces of culinary mischief. Afterwards,

We’ll try to flee.




a line, (a short blue one)



Skunk and Zebra: Interdependence at its Best

(A Prose Poem)


She whuffed while hoofing at the carrots in her trough. Truly, alfalfa was tastier. Not all equines like the same food.


Skunk squeezed through the fence. Visiting hours were over. Sundays were unendurable given tired keepers, ambitious children, loud crowds, also tenacious pigeons. Greeting Zebra, she emptied the trough. Grubs were more work.


a line, (a blue one)


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