My Writing

Here is sampling of my writing.


Strawberry Fields Forever?

Recently, I opened a Flickr file of photos, developed from forgotten negatives recently discovered in my mother’s basement closet. Childhood memories spilled out, especially one evoked by a photo of myself sitting on a fence post by a farmer’s field. It was 1956 and the summer sun had descended towards distant trees on the western […]continue reading..

By the Pond

Like many authors, nature inspires my writing. As I sit by my pond on a warm May day, I note the chickadees flitting in the cedars, the cat bird gathering twigs for her nest, and the male wren singing his heart out to attract a mate. Last week a mallard duck swam peacefully on the […]continue reading..

A Shared Name, an Unshared Life

My grandmother shares my name. And I share hers. It is a name of love and loss, given to me before my birth. The name of a woman whose flesh and blood formed the woman who formed me. The name of a grandmother pictured in a 5×7 black and white photograph that rests on my […]continue reading..

Manifestations From the Pond

Our pond is small, compared to those on nearby country properties, maybe fifty feet in diameter. Basically it’s a frog pond only five feet deep in the middle, a third of its depth the primordial muck that incubates dragonfly nymph s and mosquito larvae. Twenty years ago, a back-hoe pulled down a slimy cement pool […]continue reading..

Settlers’ Effects

Now that my husband and I have officially become senior citizens, it’s time to down-size almost fifty years of possessions. So periodically, we dive into the black holes of our house and drag out the contents of dark closets and kitchen shelves, dresser and desk drawers, bins packed away in the basement or garage. Once […]continue reading..


Morning in March

When sleep will not stretch
‘til morning, I slip downstairs
and wait for dawn to drift over
the horizon.

As usual, the cats are up,
wanting to be fed, while the dog snores
in his crate, even when I open the door.
He’s old and...continue reading..

November Windows

A pale November sun
spotlights four windows
that frame tableaus
and buoy my heart now
chilled by days of grey
and degrees plunging
downwards towards months
of icy wind and snow.

Outside the patio window,
a woodpecker hops sideways,
feet gripping rough bark,
its white breast...continue reading..

Letting Go the Garden

Goodbye, good riddance!
I’ve tended you long enough.
My patience is worn thin,
like your scraggly cucumber vines
and withered onion stalks.

Can’t you hear the jays screech
my aggravation while goldfinch
flit behind my back and empty
each and every sunflower?
Better they devoured
your...continue reading..


(A Poem for a Sister Who Left Too Soon)

Last summer, hour after hour,
you milked the currants
from their slender stems
and stained your fingers red.
Some fell into your lap,
small round berries,
reflecting radiation
aimed hot, months before,
at the meteorite that
crashed...continue reading..

No Language for Lost Limbs

Old sugar maples edge the road
with power lines parting branches,
and trunks baring scars of lost limbs,
victims of storms and chainsaws
that feared wind and black-outs.
The ‘b’ is silent, I tell the children.
“Cross it out. Don’t say the sound.”
They nod...continue reading..


Beyond the kitchen window,
a western sky darkens to dusk.
My nose drips raw into
a sink of soapy water and
a day of dirty dishes.
Gloom settles on my shoulders
like a suffocating cloak,
a black hole swallowing light.
From the pond, out of...continue reading..

copyright Marie Prins 2020
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