by Mary McKSchmidt | Jul 28, 2025 | Blog Post, 2025, Poetry
On Sunday, July 20, 2025, Jane McKinney—my mother, friend, teammate, co-author, chair chat buddy, and co-creator of “A Bench and a Tree”—passed peacefully, surrounded by her children in front of her beloved window. She was ninety-eight years old. Although no...
by Mary McKSchmidt | Jul 16, 2025 | Poetry, 2025
for Rubin Most days I am with heras she begins a departure that isinevitable, reasonable, heart-smashing. But this day I am with him. And while the horizon is swallowedby a disconcerting fog, the stillness of this momentin his presence soothesand...
by Mary McKSchmidt | Jun 9, 2025 | 2025, Poetry
Not a Petoskey. Not a skipping stone. Not even a geode. Jagged, slightly larger than a softball, the rock was among the other rocks hauled, dumped, and arranged ten years ago to create a border between the carport and manicured lawn. It rested comfortably among the...
by Mary McKSchmidt | May 26, 2025 | 2025, Poetry
what am I doingto care for myself this day in May when winds plunge temperatures near freezingand the sun slips behindthe too-familiar gray of spring? I am donning a winter coat,a pair of mittensand helping him launch the new and unfamiliar dinghywith a seatback and...
by Mary McKSchmidt | May 11, 2025 | 2025, Poetry
After tediously tucking twigs and grasses into the juncture of the service berry tree outside Mother’s window for days, the robin nestled her plump body into the mud-lined floor of the nest and poked her tail in our direction as if to say, quit...
