not good at standing casually with a glass
filled with melted cold side stares
bubbly remarks now falling flat
and the requisite dash of acerbic bitters
hand me this and I get the urge
to throw the contents into the nearest smirk
to justify some stereotype (being from the South)
I always show with my iconic flask of hot tea
for the safety of all concerned
the bitter taste of childhood memories
salty and harsh like someone else’s tears
left on the pillow in a chance motel room
where once you stayed on a lonely trip
though not yours they end up in your mouth
jagged and broken on your tongue
and you dream of digging holes in river sand
where the water line is just at the surface
you awaken the next day
drenched and the bed is damp
when you walk out the door to the car
you feel the wet grit on your shoes
I want to leave childhood youth middle age
and now the days approaching death
leave them all like broken cups on a windowsill
beloved shards of collected dreams
what use are these grimy scrapes of life
sticky with longing for what never was
for what never now can be
to go beyond these hopes these fears this body
deep deep into the well of wisdom and compassion
perhaps rain today
the sky beyond the window offers uncertain light
the sun appearing beneath a gauzy haze
obdurate indeterminacy a hallmark now
but always tea
let it remain at half-mast until
the ragged stars make room for a rainbow
a recognition that all have a place
the brutal stripes soften in welcome
to no longer resemble harsh prison bars
let the colors run until they resemble tears
so that we can finally release our grief
know that we are safe to cry and then to rise
to build ourselves a home
the flag has been absent for over a week
better now as there’s room
around the bare pole gulls fly
dropping feathers and shit and food
no one misses that scrap of red white and blue oppression
too precious to be soiled by common life
let someone put it away on their American altar
it has lost its promise for the rest of us
and only hangs a threat
crane balanced on one skeletal leg
atop the roof glistening in the rain
suddenly it spreads two metallic wings
rises with a harsh industrial warning
off to find its own destination
as the building abandoned stares after it
with empty windows and jagged girders
never to be completed
I hold you more dear than myself
closer in the night cradled so gently
my heart become a feathered bird
able to fly in sun-filled dreams
laughter filling my days
so that I open the door to joyous greeting
having been guided home by your smile
and no waves of sorrow no rainfall of tears
will ever be strong enough to wash these away
your love a steady comfort
your memory a precious gift
I sit on the side of the road
holding the hand of a small child of grief
he rocks besides me disconsolate and starving
I give him water drawn from tears
and food pulled from rocky hardship
to feed him with what he’s known
were I to offer the radiant fruit of jewel trees
that shelter us both from the burning sun
he would die from shock
a magenta red generator on a rooftop
a small green shoot growing between two bricks
a provocative sticker pasted over a ledge
three things not seen yesterday now in view
what awaits tomorrow
-author’s note: this is a challenge I give myself and now to you, since you’re here. each day on your walk or even upon awakening gazing out your window: find three things you’ve not noticed before. these can be visual, as in this poem, but also auditory, tactile, or felt in some other fashion. note them.
