After Running Errands, I Think of the World I Want Us to Live In: A Villanelle

After Running Errands, I Think of the World I Want Us to Live In: A Villanelle
Miguel Pires da Rosa from Braga, Portugal

What is left after the groceries are put away?
Dishes on the drying rack, nothing to clean:
all is as it should be, or so they say.

My darling, tomorrow is recycling day!
Let us do our part. There’s much I mean
to do after the groceries are put away!

Even death comes with chores: one day
we’ll buy for the other what flowers remain,
which is as it should be, or so they say.

My darling, don’t be sad. Hold this bouquet
to your breast. There’s much to grieve; I’m keen
to make love after the groceries are put away!

You would be so warm to touch. It is with dismay
I admit I can’t have you, the gap between dream
and nightmare—which is as it should be, or so they say.

With what little time remains, we must disobey
the voices of reason, the calls to action, which scream
that we find peace in putting the groceries away:
nothing is as it should be, no matter what they say.

More poetry

All →
poetry

Diary

Ages ago I kept a diary in a hand legible to
none but me. I read it on my knees as just-fallen

rain clings to pinecones like wet feathers,
the evening slips into its velvet gown,

and starlight pitter-patters on my head
like drops of gallium. I am thankful

the day is dying, for I have forgotten how
to live. Who wrote those words belongs

to an empire that collapsed under its
own grandiose weight, its high priest

· 1 min read
poetry

Enlightenment

I was seventeen when I read Alan Watts’ The Way of Zen
a couple pages at a time, putting down the book to observe
sunset drape itself over my mind, falling asleep thinking
of not thinking, hearing a flock of birds and imagining myself
flapping against the sky and recalling that I am sky. Once,
the book well-thumbed and creased and read twice over,
I felt an ant crawl the length of my arm like a nagging
sense that

· 1 min read
poetry

Foul Weather Friend

I am a foul weather friend, dear poetry.
I have paid you no mind when spring rains
wash clean the marble statues of gods
and a cheery sun
reads aloud your sweet inscriptions,
nor when awed children skip through museums,
nor accordion-song fills the subway,
nor a stranger does another stranger
a kindness,
nor blueberries are so ripe they bleed sugar,
nor velvet chocolate cake knocks you dizzy with love,
nor, after making love, my wife’s perfume
clings

· 1 min read