Thomas A. Thomas
Thomas A. Thomas, born in Illinois to a medical doctor mother and a ballet dancer father, spent a lot of time off by himself in the woods, prairies, and fields, day and night, in all seasons.
Thomas found his way to the University of Michigan, where he studied with Donald Hall, and Gregory Orr, and workshopped some poems with Robert Bly. He won Minor and Major Hopwood Awards in Poetry, and his poem “Approaching Here” was choreographed and performed at UM.
After a couple of years of madness in New York City, he found his way to the Pacific Northwest, where he has made his home for over 40 years. He is now delighted to be a Board Member for the Olympia Poetry Network, and to be active in numerous online poetry and photography groups.
His works appear in print and online, including video recordings, most recently in Gyroscope Review, Blue Heron Review, Cirque Journal, Vox Populi, TheBanyanReview.org , and FemAsiaMagazine.com, as well as anthologies in English and in translation to Spanish, Serbian, and Bengali. He has been nominated for both Best of the Net and The Pushcart Prize.
This collection of poems regards his experience of caring for his wife for over a decade, up to the present time, as she gradually succumbs to extreme early onset Alzheimer’s disease.
Visit Thomas online at https://linktr.ee/thomasathomas
My Heart Is Not Asleep: $16.99
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Poem from My Heart Is Not Asleep
What Remains
After so many losses, nights like burnt wicks, days too, I cajole her out on a sunny late morning. These she notices: wild cherry petals falling like snow in cedar shadows, drifting onto sword ferns, and columbine jewels from last night’s rain beaded and gleaming there on the velvet underside of a madrona leaf, the forget-me-nots blue, and some pink, standing around the pole at the end of the drive where I didn’t mow, the scent from the daphne bush in bloom, a tiny pinch I hold below her nostrils, yes beautiful, she says. Inside again, simple sharing, me spooning vanilla ice cream drizzled with chocolate syrup for her, her tears of joy.
