Tag Archives: poem?

fog morning.

06 Friday Nov 2020

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the kind of morning i wish would stand still
see what i see.
let me take in the silence
the scent
the gray
the cool soaking wet
let me hold you still
before it all becomes the day.

i remember waking and rising before everyone
and sneaking outside to sit on the concrete steps
shocked i could rise so early
that i could be so quiet mousy
elated that there’s no one to tell me
No
or
Don’t
a long green and white trailer nestled in the catskills
courtesy of grandma and grandpa
land of loud crickets, soft orange lights
strangers in pubs who are friends
a pool that’s off limits
and a basketball court where my dad actually bounced a ball.
so many tiny white spider tents in the grass
should i walk, yes i should walk and soak my socks
i’ll take them off
my tracks look like skis in the wet grass
the world was still and mostly silent
accompanied by tiring crickets
soon grandma will rise with her little slippered feet
and pastel house dress to make us toast with too much butter
that is life
and no one around to say
No
or
Don’t

sun please hold before you burn this fog away
fluttering flock of mourning doves say otherwise
the guy downstairs comes out for a smoke
the chemicals chase the ocean scent away
still, everyone is reverent this morning,
keeping quiet.
so far.

Guardians

24 Thursday Sep 2020

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When you come to collect me be careful where you step and what you touch
There’s sand on the floor,
slippery and on the couch,
kind of funny
and in the bathroom under everything, grit everywhere
in your hair and I hope it never washes away

When you come to collect me take note and be gentle
Precious cargo here:
Horseshoe crab molts, a seahorse
A green flower he found on the sidewalk and gave to me
Ribbons from gifts long enough to wrap sarcophagus
Penguins and llamas and Piglets,
Empty journals waiting for a smeared knuckle
Hoya and snake plant that thrive against the odds

A mantis, finger long, the color of bark
Who hung on the ceiling outside my door
Biding his time
Guarding my home
His mortal body now in the dish beneath my aloe.

Be careful.

No Angels Here, They’ve Passed On By.

13 Thursday Aug 2020

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I put my gnawing back to bed at the start of the new day,
little pink clock ticking but it sounds so far away
Pearl moon watched high above my window,
uncaring witness to our struggles.
When my eyes finally closed and unconsciousness collected me
right around the witching hour
a small being crashed into my screen and clung there.
I woke and wondered at the odds of a bat finding my window.
My heart fluttered a little, dosed with the tiniest adrenaline
unlike the days when I was young and taut, full of fear
my heart would have battered my ribs,
but tonight I just didn’t seem to care.
Soon its tiny talons tried to find purchase on the air conditioner
scraping and slipping, and I hoped it couldn’t find its way in
and I wondered what I would do if it did
but I just didn’t seem to care that when a bat comes
crashing into your screen
that means a devil gets its wings.
Right about then an invisible cat ran across my bedroom
but I just didn’t seem to care.
I turned my back to stare at the floor hoping for sleep to return
caring less about what lurks past our windows
just a carcass twisted in sweaty sheets and a t-shirt
from the bar up the street that burned down.
“Far From Any Road” the bloodstained tune played on repeat in my head, back gnawing, moon a mute witness in the steaming parking lot.
I’d be grateful not to think or remember or dream.

Morning, July.

20 Monday Jul 2020

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The day is long when I rise at 4 in the morning, before first light. I wake up surprised that I woke, I must have made it through the night.

I pace from window to window watching the light evolve and paint the sky,
the trees, the yellow face, now bright, of these concrete walls.
Swallows will barnstorm us soon. Tony is making homes for honey bees.
The weatherman says it’s gonna be 105 degrees and I worry about folks
in the heat without access to gatorade, a/c, ice, shade and rest. (and love.)

I am open to the idea of being patient today.
Patience feels like watching my dresses dry on the curtain rod in the bathroom, and when I do it right patience smells like a green tank top
left out in the sun to dry, softly touching me.

Will another storm awaken me tonight?

When Science-Author-Types Play Tricks on Me (Bastards)

25 Wednesday Mar 2020

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I reached into a bag of Scientopoetism.
Darned thing bit me in the knuckle without so much as a
“Howd’ya do,”
Not properly introduced and teeth in my metacarpals, I asked
“May I have those back?”
She said no.
Never reach into a bag of Scientopoetism without an offering first.
Coffee beans dipped in espresso might do well, though
the bite might yet be deeper, you never know.
I began writing with my left instead of right,
which I suppose only adds to the experiment,
and for that I suppose you want my thanks?

10 Saturday Aug 2019

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She Lay Curled In An Animal’s Trench

She lay curled in an animal’s trench
Soft shed hair helped keep her warm.
She patted the ground hoping for lion
but most likely flighty hyena lay here.
She pulled in handfuls of dust and chaff,
plucked shallow weeds.
They smelled of old blood and broken loyalty.

Obsidian sky dripped malachite meteors,
low slow and long.
Chandeliers of stars once reflected in the pond
that lay east of her chin
But the water was gone
consumed by tongue and air.

Rested, she rose and twisted tufts of weed and hyena
into her hair.
She spat into the sandy earth and ground it in her palms,
painting the four points on her face.
She continued her long walk west back to the sorting place
determined to be a mirthless, disobedient beast
until the sun came back to retrieve her.

(Persephone’s Staircase)