barefeet on oak floor
follow a creak to the door
full moon waits outside
°°°
green tea in the dark
the scent of the steam reaching
unseen for the stars
°°°
a brown bat dancing
between rough stars and smooth lake
– bites a mosquito
°°°
canada goose snores
in the thorny underbrush —
or perhaps a skunk?
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.
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.
We speak today of turkeys
Lyrics of fowl and hurt
Over a warm cup of coffee
And a piece of breakfast dessert.
We laugh that the cash is lacking
And the credit might make is cry
We wink link two heads asmacking
And neither of us know why
I promise a poem for the turkey
You tell me that’s how we shake the pain
I watch for an answer in a paper cup
But we both know that is insane
Come back for a bite in an hour
Come back when the hunger’s too much
Come back when the fowl all sour
On the courtyard and winters white touch
Every Stephan is a Stephanie
or a Mike – Every day but now
Long haired and maybe
or definitely – A ridiculous prayer
Every Stephanie is a Stephan
or Michelle – Every now today
Long haired and never
or possibly – a serious dance
Every Stephan finds a Stephanie
or a Mike within
Close shaved and always
or beyond – a perfumed beauty.
Every Stephanie is a Stephan
or Michelle without
Close shaved and now
or closer – a pale smooth flesh.
We souls that eat
Become — in the wanting
More
This is the Long storied sneeze
The held breath
The lost eye
We souls that want
Become — in the eating
More
This is the new friend
Young and kind
A seat away
But listening for passion’s sake
We souls that know
Become — in the telling
More
This is the brief meal
With once-strangers
Growing fat
Upon the laughter’s true leaning
We souls that tell
Become — in the knowing
More