Wednesday, November 15, 2017

present tense


A minor fender-bender,
scrapes and scratches,
but something is off,
something else,
days slipping away,
like motion propelling
my car into another’s bumper,
despite brakes, not stopping.


The river’s surface unbroken,
not a breath,
the voice of the current speaks,
“I will take you,
every stroke, every muscle,
every sip of air,
breaking across my rocks,
depositing what’s left
inbetween,
bruised, blue and far from the bank".


Tragedy occurs too often these days,
stacking up, one atop another,
a thick bundle,
the sound of the word
wearing out,
the meaning thinning,
repeating dulls pain,
shrinking Conrad’s “horror”,
faint,
again, again.
Like snow crisp under the lens
blurring, pixels into subpixels,
ghosting,
we need less tragedy,
needless tragedy
needless tragedy


Tuesday, October 31, 2017

Hollows of Hollywood


At Hollywood today, cars pass by,
carrying the looking-lost,
grave stones designed for two, 
hold one, waiting for the other.
No poetry to soothe,
no liquor to lull,
no angel to guard,
no dog to protect,
living and dead seeking
connections.


Solitude is breaking me,
pretending
as pieces fall,
fragments 
baring inner hollows.



Tuesday, October 10, 2017

Sometimes a roof is more than just a roof*


Mortality is packaged in blocks of twenty,

the average age of a well-laid roof.

Time for a new one, my husband says with a smile,

our last.


I panic at this structural truth,

it cues cold flesh, cold earth, cold stone,

wandering, 

nowhere.


Sleep not to be trusted,

with its disturbing dreamery,

ceaseless cauchemars*,

no-time.


Reality leaching into my bones,

an expiration date, an endgame

to become vagueries

in the memories of a few,

and as they pass,

no longer.


Like the shell of a butter-bean,

snap.



*From the French, cauchemar, nightmare.


Friday, October 6, 2017

The Fog of War*


The transport dropped him in Vietnam,

holding an M-16 and ammo,

his crisp idealism and best intentions.

But the wash of rice paddies,

sweat, curls of chemical smoke

released machine-pressed creases,

wilted fabric, olive dulled to brown.

And the line,

the line not to cross

into shades of camouflage,

colors of humanity among the bodies.



War on the edge

of senseless,

blades whirred,

dust kicked up

like clouds of doubt in his mind.

Victories ash-gray grit between his teeth,

mud the color of blood sucked at his boots;

elephant grass so tall, so thick, so sharp

cut his hands, his arms,

criss-crossed his face,

his mortality marked with “X”s.



Fifty years have passed,

the puzzle pieces, the same,

the numbers, the same.

Veterans hold their stories close.

There’s time 

yet,

for what cannot be measured,

time 

still,

to speak their words.



*From the German, 1896, Nebel des Kreiges. Term used to capture the ambiguities of the battlefield.


Friday, September 1, 2017

when the tree guy says six more years


We stare at the pine tree in our yard,

its height and breadth,

from Christmas years ago,

hung with ornaments of love&hope.



They say summer is passing,

so we have it trimmed and shaped,

as if we cannot brave the lost, the never to be,

our time shaved down so close.



Cicadas' sound eases afternoons,

white noise soothes into sleep,

we remember the smell of sweet sap,

how it stuck to our fingers, close to each other.



Tuesday, August 29, 2017

No child left behind


The gaggle of geese honk:
flock gathers for the trip south,
before the autumn chills.
The train nears the crossing:
horn, bell, lights,
warning to clear the tracks.
The boy feels the vibrations:
lying down, waiting
to stop the voices in his head.

His death unconfirmed, 
officials meet next day
to finalize his school placement;
as if pre-dated paperwork
erases the tragedy.


As if their signatures
breathe life back into the boy.


Friday, August 18, 2017

Tension Rising


There's a rattle to her teeth and bones,

in the drum of dogs' toenails on hardwood floors,

in the click of old air conditioning,

off and on, fitfully.

Paper cuts her mouth,

fingers twitch to turn pages,

she reads to distraction

from her narrow days.

Sunlight chases between the curtains,

flickering

endlessly