Puff Of Smoke Poems

driving and listening
podcast about
unexpected turns
that change our lives
My own twists and turns
led to this—two children
beloved in the world where I
drive to work through
autumn hills, puppy
in the back seat and
Right then—
Right that minute
bird, brown and red,
dives by and misses
my windshield
by a breath
flies off into
his own unexpected life

world full of others
urging me to hurry too
even you, puppy

outside—wind, rain, dark
that’s the whole point, your eyes say
universe of scents

I brew tea, bemused
dreams, words, drifting leaves
Let’s wait for—a while

You always say that

mornings,
we walk before dawn
Today the street is wet
from early rain
November air a soft surprise

you sniff sidewalks
for hints of
who passed by in the night

I watch the wet grass
pull sparks of light
from the street lamp

You raise your head
to catch a scent on the wind
I watch the weather
carry moods in and out
on the autumn breeze

at the yoga studio
there is a red box on a shelf
that says it holds Wisdom
says it in all capital letters.
WISDOM.

skeptical at the start
by the end of class
my body believes it

driving home from yoga class
loose and relaxed in the dark
we talked about our parents
and their failing mental capacities
talked and drove until we saw
the lights of a city and realized
we’d been traveling in the wrong direction
for half an hour.
Laughed, drove home.
What else is there to do?

It was in the middle of the ordinary dark,
ordinary cold. No bombs, nobody
died, just the accelerated ticking
of So Many Clocks—
I arrived to find a package on my front porch
a huge caramel apple
covered in chocolate.
On another day, another friend,
A different friend (yes, I am
bragging in a poem right now.
I have two friends
like this. Truth? I have even more.
I have Excellent Friends)
This friend made me
a sweater in every shade of autumn
left it on my porch with a
jar of apple butter,
loaf of dark and spicy bread
laced with ginger and molasses
I ate the apple, ate the bread, wore the sweater.
Some days I come home to only mail
on my front porch. Some days
nothing at all. But then, these other days
days that are an invitation to say thank you
To say, How did you know I was staggering
under the week’s weight?
To say, friend—I see you too.

(Transcript of an actual conversation in our school library on a recent dark and rainy late October morning.)
J: I wanted to go to the haunted house this weekend. But my brother says, don’t bother. He says it’s not even scary.
R: I went last weekend. I cried twice.

outside the pop-up
Halloween store—
sign says, We’re Hiring

mostly the pumpkins
are gathered
beneath the farm market awning
but out in the field, still
a few dozen huddle together
mud on their thick orange flanks
They move in close,
tell each other stories
through the rainy afternoons
and the long dark
as frost creeps close
they wait for what comes next—
a hollowing and a swift flare of light
or slow collapse into this field
In some of the stories, but not all
there are seeds
and luck
and a fresh crop come spring

lady unlocking a Lexus—
maroon cashmere
tall leather boots
black umbrella
and tucked under her arm
one skeleton and a
glow-in-the-dark scythe