Air
I am ever-wary
of luxury
and cautious
of delighting
in foolishness
but sometimes I forget
that the soul has its needs,
and sometimes need
means more
than reason…
Category: Uncategorized
Lucky
I felt lucky today at the gas pump at Cumby’s
post-snowstorm,
the pickup trucks with their dragon breath
refueling, and New Order on the outside radio
as they pulled up and parked,
got cigarettes
and the coffee from Ipanema
(available for a limited time)…
From My Legs as they Dissolve
Love me love me love me
they say from under the sheets
where you collapse in exhaustion,
from inside the denim sheaths
that dye them blue with indigo
that washes down the drain
with soap when you shave them…
Dreamcoat
There is this man
who’s become the man in the moon to me.
He watches over me
while I’m sleeping,
and draws down all the dew.
He’s the stones in my river
that disturb and dapple me,
and he’s the silt shifting
beneath my flow…
Solstice Stillpoint
This is the stillpoint of solstice:
late June, evening. The milltown river,
with its floating candles flickering
as an orange twilight falls.
In this newly minted summer,
porches commune with their rocking chairs
and sunsets unfurl slowly.
My inventory of the longest day
reveals a stasis of bliss
settling inside my core
like a reservoir
when hope is complete:…
Samskaras
The word sounds like a Christmas cookie:
patterns pressed in the firm dough of me
with a carved rolling pin of impressions
like the Springerle my sisters and I made as children,
baked in the hot oven of intention
too many times, too many batches,
too many burnt offerings, all this waste.
Love in the ’90’s
Today the world is a disco ball
with glitter pyrotechnics
dappling the sunlit road
and all the trees are money trees,
and all the potholes pots of gold.
The earth is strumming its Carlos
Alomar fat bass riffs under the snow
and the cardinals all fight for the limelight
of the sun’s pulsing paisley fractal smile…
Asbury Park
Knowing when something is over
isn’t an ending of love,
which has no beginning or end—
and nothing—not anger, or even indifference
can erase these stories written in Sharpie ink…
The Things Trees Say
Today I forgot I need walls.
I had to park my car
and walk to the post office.
I left my agoraphobia
behind in the hot back seat,
balled up with my sweatshirts
when I grabbed my cane.
Google lied. I thought it was closer.
One more block;
one more block.
My knees parse the distance…
Plastic
It’s only fitting
that a substance so yielding
manifests in this century —
an era of great
plasticity
where convenience
is prized,
anything is possible
and dreams can be
supersized.
Noun or adjective?
Mutant or mineral?
Impersonal, pliable,
everyone’s friend—…
Letter to My Daughter
I’m sorry for all the things I taught you
when I was still learning to be myself.
I’m sorry for all you learned inside me,
the monologues I baptized your splitting cells with
on long walks home from the train
after working on my feet all day
or on the way to the laundromat,
pushing the cart over packed snow—
at the sink, on my knees, at the stove,
hanging the rags to dry; and finally, in dreams—
once I felt I’d earned the right to sleep.
I’m sorry for the way I said it was,
the things I said we do for love.
I said it like a prayer, while getting him tea
in the hours I didn’t need to be awake in.
This is how we love…