And melts into a bath
Luke warm
I do not go up there often; I prefer
To walk along the
Walls, sometimes letting my fingertips glide across
They used to look for a door
Not now
That search had been called off
Years ago
So I walk
Tiara rusted, around
The large, circular room
Feeling the dents in the glassy walls
And the points of the shards of light
THE COAT
Her ugly winter coat
Did keep out the cold
And kept her happy on her walks
Through the park
Every morning, 6:00 AM
But sometimes she yearned
For the feel of new
Fabric. Any fabric
Cotton wool cashmere silk felt fleece or a new
Color. Any color
Red blue violet green yellow orange gray black
She often caught herself
Looking into store windows
At all the many, many different coats, cheap, expensive
And in between
Just craving something new
Then the wind would blow
She’d hold her coat tighter
Her wish withering, after all
Her ugly winter coat
Did keep out the cold
And kept her happy on her walks
Through the park
Every morning, 6:00 AM
A FEW DEGREES
Take a look at this man
On interstate sixty-five
The left, pure dead grassland
The right, his pretty little wife
Blinks his eyes, rubs his face
And then sees the dull sign
Exit for some new gray place
Half a mile down the line
Of course he does nothing
Just hurtles right on by
Go somewhere, do everything
In half a blink of an eye
In him the words burn
Why can’t I go there?
All I needed was a tiny turn
All I need to go anywhere
It’s just so simple, really
A few degrees, a slight jerk
Just need a wheel, actually
And an engine that works
A little twist of the wrist
And off you damn well go
A little flex of the wrist
No looking back, just go
A few miles later, he’s lost
Everything to the road
His mind’s paying the cost
It’s begun to overload
A semi creeps up
Hail the king of the hill!
It’s warming itself up
For the thrill of the kill
Monster thing could take
Him nicely off the track
Run him over, don’t hit the brake
Gas and fire, good-bye Jack
Of course nothing happens
The truck goes right one by
Didn’t bother to kill him
And it makes him wonder why
It’s just so simple, really
A few degrees, a slight jerk
He had his wheel, really
With an engine that worked
A little twist of the wrist
And off you damn well go
A little flex of the wrist
No looking back, just go
Now he turns on the headlights
And goes down some dreary street
Turning left, turning right
His sweetheart fast asleep
Some people walk beside him
He closes his weary eyes
No screams, silent mayhem
No fright, just surprise
He said he fell asleep
All those hours took their toll
Even he believed that, but deep
Deep down, he really does know
That it was he, not fatigue
Which on that strange night
Made good that bloody need
That’ll haunt him all his life
It was just so simple, truly
A few degrees, a slight jerk
He had his wheel, unfortunately
And an engine that worked
A little twist of the mind
And off three people went
A dab of curiosity and you’ll find
That it was all well spent
THANKSGIVING
The Troublemakers would not look at the turkey,
Huddled as they were at the end of the table.
I knew the look in Grandpa’s eyes
As he walked into the dining room,
Carrying the
Carving knife and fork.
I got up, and he jerked his head towards their end.
“Here,” he whispered, “Give the knife to them,
For sadness grows in their hearts.
Withering, they are, and
Whether their fall is better
Or worse than ours
They will surely die soon, even if we can’t see it.”
It was my turn. I looked at them
And thought, Surely
They are dead now.
All the more reason why I took the knife from him,
Walked to the far end of the table,
Handed it to my eldest cousin,
And said, “It’s your turn this year.”
He carved it indelibly.
His wife poured the wine,
And then made a toast. After much stuttering,
The red grape juice sloshed
As our glasses clinked together.
No one seemed to notice
As bits of the food and drops of the wine
Stained the tablecloth.
MAN PLUS ONE IN THE MOON
My moon is where
Two souls live
Their hands are forever
Reaching out
Trying to scoop the sun
With the silver-plated spoons that I may
Or may not
Have given to them
My eye sees and my head reads
The hope on their faces
And my spirit is sad
To have to watch as those two
Try to make the sun
One of their toys
Of which they have very few
As one of them is standing on one leg
Trying to get a better reach
I notice her cute little foot is bare
And think that maybe I should offer them socks
It must be chilly
Although
Admittedly
I do not really know the temperature
Felt by bare feet on the grit
I do know
How it feels to reach
For the sun
For a little bit of summer
Not that that’s what they’re after
They can’t know what that is
Back on the planet
Where there are seasons
I watch
And wish
That I was not so near
That I was so far
Away
That I couldn’t see them
As anything other
Than a blip behind the clouds
Because even knowing that I am their
Godly mother
And watching them
Shimmer, as if wet
From an impossible rainfall or dew
I feel that already
I have seen to much
And that already
I am intruding
On their El Dorado
Made of tinsel and origami towers
I am afraid that
I’ll crush it
Before too long
Still, spitefully, I look on
&n
bsp; Because I want
To see
With both eyes and gesturing hands
When they catch
The light
I have to see
The look on their faces
Have to watch the joy
And relief of a journey
All done and over with
Erupt over their faces
Maybe I can feel those things with them
And then, maybe
My own search will be over
And maybe I
Will be able to turn
Away from the silvery moon
And towards the figures of gods
And heroes
Standing swiftly in the heavens
Behind the crooked star grids
Crisscrossed and bombarded by comets
So that I may transcend
Only to look
Down
And watch dozens more
As they bring back chunks of cloud fluff and moon dust
When they were scooping for sunlight
In the spoon of the one on tiptoes
I believe
That I see
A spark
Near Miss
The Day After
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends