After work, I rest in the wispy warmth of a waning
December sun. On the table by the window, piles
of half-read books leer at me and I at them.
In the fading light, a hawk swoops by, hungry.
Hungry, I reach for my phone; looking down,
I spot a pile of dust, make a note to sweep it up
Last night I dreamt of the perfect opening line
to a poem that would, I had no doubt, piece
back together the crumbling world. It was a line
that drew you in, breathless, that made you drop
everything—coffee, that online shopping cart
one click from arriving at your door—and pay…
Mind abuzz, body stiff, I take
my meds and wait for rest. For
by now the clouds have come
and gone and brought no rain,
the dishes are put away, all
juice squeezed from the day…
“The only difference between a flower and a weed is judgement.” – Wayne Dyer I have mistaken Ragweed for Goldenrod, alleyways for gardens, watched them torn out, make way for something better. I have asked what better is, been taught […]
If I had my
way, I suppose there would be no shorelines,
no dying light sinking into bruised-blue lakes, no
dead poets, no Libraries of Alexandria…
It’s Fall on an even-numbered year
which means an election looms, again.
We wander pumpkin patches, corn mazes, haunted
houses, make holiday plans, think what gifts to give.
I wish to sit by the window and read—but not
outside, where UV rays intrude, and wildfire
smoke, and gunfire, and bird-shit dropped
at random. In my mind’s eye the outdoors
wounds but does not break the skin…
Dearest, I meant to prove myself worthy of every challenge, up to death itself. The day began with feats of strength, like getting out of bed and brushing my teeth. I took till noon to venture out; by then the […]
I found a cricket in my kitchen, wounded, on its back,
little legs flailing as if it could walk upside down. I heard..
no chirps, no yelps of pain, no cries for help;
I lacked the heart to crush him. Gently, I carried him