After long weekend under
cover of cloud and comforter,
drowsily catching up on
scrolled notes
and missed time
with my dog
at my hip,
I left a home
still shrouded in slumber,
save for the lonesome love
who curled
wagging silently at my feet,
worried head
lowered to my shoe,
begging, why?
Why won’t you stay
one more day?
Tag: poetry
subway solstice
Underground,
stations hold
spring’s coolness
a little longer
than the summer streets above,
until that moment
when the whole system
pulls in a hot drag
off the sizzling City,
and traps fire
in its tubes
until winter.
waiting
The five-block walk to the subway.
The twelve-week sale of the house.
The hours to surgery.
The years to degrees.
The decades to wisdom.
From outset to threshold
of the threshold,
of the threshold,
counting minutes,
noting stones
mapping turns,
imagining the face on arrival,
the place of landing
in fragments and smudged sketches
as a trailing dream.
A zen master would counsel
to be in each second,
to learn from each minute
to acknowledge each step.
I try, lord knows,
I listen hard.
But with each boot plod
or sole flap
or hoof suck
I hear only halts:
Not yet.
Not yet.
Not yet.
Not yet.
history lesson
Cleaning out
is history research,
an archeological dig,
each layer revealing
moments from the past
weeks,
then months,
then years,
—what mattered at the time.
While cleaning out the garage
I found a wad of bread
some creature had stashed
between summer cushions
with dust, leaves, twigs
—an abandoned nest
built upon the boxes
we brought with us
intending to repair
an even more
ancient
past.
reading my skin
redheads
know better now
to guard against
the dangerous sun,
but our skin
tells cavalier stories
of childhoods
cycling through
burn,
peel,
freckle,
repeat…
scars learned-from
can be badges
of endurance
and resilience,
and freckles,
like the stars,
gorgeous remnants
of playing
with fire.
grounded
Some days I’m more aware of
my chin’s closeness
to the floor,
the short distance
from shoulder to heel,
the nearness of my bones
to the boards they creak upon.
Feet of Missouri clay and corn-silk stubble,
I rise barely a fence post above the earth
that holds me
grounded,
like a bird
under a basket.
evening in washington square haiku
Effervescent dusk.
Heat lightning in summer grass.
Sprightly fireflies.
heatwave haiku
Sun pressed on window
like menace thug peering in
to steal our cool air.
wet summer haiku
Drips from awnings and
Fredrick’s boxes drop down through
concrete rain forests.
haiku for my desk
Somewhereinthisstack
ofpaperissomething I
should’vedonebynow.
seeing god naked 