For Celeste & Sydney

O Lowell, do not forget your daughters,
how they ran, how they skipped,
how they danced on hot summer nights
and sang silly songs into winter mornings.

Do not forget how your daughters stood
beside the river as the leaves turned,
how they wriggled their toes on the grass
one Easter morning.

O Lowell, remember your daughters
leaping and swimming and walking
down Merrimack Street – young
hopeful, dreaming dreams of love.

Remember your daughters in black shoes
laughing over wine at the theater,
how they curled their legs up underneath
cuddling with their babies.

O Lowell, do not forget your daughters.

let me, long-haired,
hunt the buck naked
in the frigid

or, bald, forgiving
all the predators
the sun

let me, green-eyed
discover clothes
in the desert

or, earless
scream bluejay sweet
the moon

let me, wet-lipped
write the eagle
on the mountain

or, soft footed
step through the play
to the river’s bend

long-haired, green-eyed, wet-lipped
and with love
naked
i dance your name
into the snow

my very
my very and
my only
love – forgive me

family is that place dear friends know
with hand knitted quilts and tarnished silver
she watches some show about strangers

she grumbles, family is that place, dear.
friends know with hands knitted like tight quilts.
Tarnished with silver watches shown to strangers

families are that place with no dear friends
and noted slivers of tarnished strangers
who quit when she sees them

strangers show that place to dear friends
hand them warm quilts and thirty silver
but never know she knows they are all family there.

swordfish is popular
except amongst the fish it eats
he is hated there

everyone else loves him
the way he tastes
the tenderness
of his flesh

just beautiful.

My head is exploding
quietly without bells
like a forgotten landmine
in a land full of deaf mice

this, i tell myself, is why
i do not think. why
my finger is burnt
from grabbing the screen
from the fireplace

perhaps later, when
my pains make a lasting peace
I will better understand the absolute truth
about cause and effect

but now, my finger is exploding
loudly with bright red screams
like the memory of a rake piercing a hand
in a land full of rabid chipmunks.

An airplane collapses through the air
toward the ground with sublime grace
a lovely riff on the jazz of despair
– the music of a calamity
gravity duped by a tarmac’s black humor

If there is a parachute, it becomes religion
– a crutch for the faithless to pretend
they have faith.

A mountain, turgid and honest,
points through the air toward the sky
with regal silence – a meditation on hope
– the mantra of resurrection
gravity forgiven by a passing cloud

If there is a stone, it becomes prayer
– a message for the Creator to speak
to the faithful.