Please, I said to my dog
Who leaned in close
Wrapping his neck around my neck

Please, I said to my brothers
Who don’t talk about our parents
Who are gone but still hover above nearby

Please, to my cousins
Who have the blood of our blood
The stories of our families 

Please, I say to all my cells
To my breath to the end
To all I’m made of

And please again to my dog 
Who snuggles close
Whispering, whatever you need
I am here

Robin J Phillips  April 26, 2020



Waiting for my dog to tire of his tennis ball
I lean back and watch the trees
Layer upon layer
Blowing in the wind
I sway with them

Robin J Phillips  May 7, 2020

My Mom’s Hands

My Mom’s hands
Tapped out a tune on the steering wheel
as she drove from here to there

My Mom’s hands 
Smoothed an invisible line on the table cloth 
Laughing with her friends

My Mom’s hands
Tickled my arm absently
As we watched every episode of Doc Martin

My Mom’s hands
Are here in my own hands
Her lines and veins and strength

Robin J Phillips  May 26, 2020

Eavesdropping from My Porch

The voice sounded very young
Maybe a 4-year-old 
With all her confidence

Walking with grandma and the big
Yellow dog who was already
In the family
When she was born

“Her name’s Mary Edwards
Mary Edwards
I’ll write it down so you’ll remember” 

Umhmm Grandma responded
One hand for the leash
And one for the sweet
Young girl

Robin J Phillips  August 12, 2020

Felony dammit

(or growing old is a crime)

I achieved Genius Level 
on the NYT’s Spelling Bee 
before 6 this morning 

but it took me way too long 
as I brushed my teeth
and took some pills
and heated up coffee
to come up with 
to remember
to recall
that word 
that means 
more than a misdemeanor.

~ Robin J. Phillips, Sept. 3, 2021