Category Archives: Uncategorized

this seashore, off season
shared by the faithful—
puppies, big dogs, toddlers,
spry elders, frazzled families
looking for a cheap vacation—
all these, and the gulls,
these own the beach now—
the beach reclines, sighs out to sea
here, in its cool and peaceful days of rest

trees once—
spikes line this road
through the forest
deaf now,
like many of us

whispering forest
gossips in the wind
mourns lost cousins
utilized

late winter—bare trees
stand ready to dress in green
move from march to dance

failing memory,
jangling pocketful of coins—
loud, but worn by time

To you, the woman in
the next bathroom stall
at the Philadelphia airport:
The little girl with you?
The one in pink suede boots?
The one who was crying, hard?
I heard you hitting her
Heard the soft thwak of it
your blows softened
by her thick winter coat. Listen.
I’ve been One Overwhelmed Mother too
tired, tired, enraged. What scared me
Was how you yanked her
crying self into the stall.
Are you done? Are you done yet?
was what you kept repeating, furious.
When I came out of the bathroom
You were both long gone though
I looked for you, not knowing
what I would say if I found you.
Are you done yet?
Did you find calm, did you find
the well of patience buried deep
in love with that child
in love with her in this world?
I spent the rest of the day flying
carrying the memory of you two
in the air, making wishes
for her,
and for you
casting what spells I could
through thick cloud cover

busy times
dictate
Short Poems.

One sweet scenic path forward, towards
unclenching these mounting days of strained and bundled words
easing the burden of drum-skin tight breath is, slowly, lengthen the line—
see how the air softens against the ear once you begin to try, to experiment
to decide for a breath or a year to let the green daisies run wild in your meadow

the thousand gray statues
when workers leave for the night, shift done
the last task is to
turn off the fluorescent factory lights
Row upon row of Buddhas
sit all night in
soft dark silence
gray stone eyes closed
all this is happening in a time zone
on another continent far from here
Picture their stillness,
All those Buddhas
even now as I write
even now as you read
the thousand gray statues

Poetry calls
breathes on the crackly line
through the heavy black hand piece
of this old rotary telephone

As ever, heedless of logistics, timing, money
poetry has no change and
is calling collect, reversing the charges

The charge, always the same, is to
notice
to notice and not know why.
Why this particular tangle
of blue thread, memory, and world?

This ordinary therapy.
The Word Cure prescribes
writing all worries onto paper
long strings of linked letters
loosen the grip of some thing
releases me from the clasp
of cold mechanical dread
that dread, wild and robot-shaped
like a thoughtless metal bear —
bigger, though.
Released, I breathe
Breathe again
Begin again and now and then
even admire
what my hands and words and worries made
of all that pent up brass and fur and fear

before dawn
a string of coral-colored lights
laced high across the neighbor’s yard
turns itself
into sunrise through the trees