in this here at this now so much noise
air itself vibrates and hums
counterpoint to the rising drone of heat
the occasional wind a parched threnody
in chorus with barren hillsides
trail once buttressed with foliaged arches
no longer a quiet refuge
brittle leaves in the coal dust underfoot
each step rustles these premature bones
a creek a well a desperate hope for rain
the distant memory of silence
once I dug holes in red sticky clay and filled them with fascinations
small gnarled twigs old rusted bolts fragments of shell
stories I heard from each of these I also threw in
with my commonplace dreams everyday hopes ordinary loves
I once tried to show them to her in shy offering to gain a brief smile
my dirtied hands were pushed away then I dropped my gaze and left
quelled by the holes that became her eyes
when air is too heavy to breathe
and heat an inescapable surround,
trees begin to scream.
were we to hear these death shrieks,
would we open our mouths agape and join in,
until the earth rang with fiery laments of rage and grief?
more likely shake our heads in momentary sadness,
return to our cool interiors,
watch a documentary about magnificent forests,
perhaps remarking, “oh, what a shame.”
some willfully ignore the sound,
disbelieving that anything deciduous has a voice
or one that counts, as it does not vote or work for them.
most will be unable to hear,
too busy groaning out their own last gasps
as they labor under the the sun’s relentless gaze,
while we privileged few live in the shade.
best start listening now.
when they become silent, that is the end.
our screaming will last for a much shorter time than theirs.
she put me in the car
drove headlong into the oncoming lane
that was the first time
she picked up a skillet full of hot oil
flung it at my head
that was the second time
she took me to a strange city
abandoned me on the street
that was the third time
I never knew still do not know
what she thought to do by any of these things
the first destroyed a sense of security
but heightened awareness
the second killed a hope for love
but taught trust in reflexes
the third wiped out desire for a relationship
but rewarded the tendency to be prepared
I cannot say I lost her-how do you lose one you never had-
though for many years I grieved over the empty space
where she might have been
this has become only sadness
over what she could have had
over the damage she must have suffered
over the inability to build a bridge she would accept
but also gratitude for the strengths I have
my heart once so hurt I did not think it would ever heal
now opens wide enough to invite the world
to rest within an infinite expanse
weary of navigating this terrain
the constantly shifting landscape of malfunction
physical breakdown and decay
eyes do not see clearly, nor ears hear
breathing an onerous labor and disruptive
of the smallest ordinary act
confusion steals former abilities away
by turning the mind into an unnavigable maze
institutions stymie their designated intent
with such regularity as to make them suspect
as they heap more suffering on those who presume
to ask them to perform their basic task
this casual cruelty surely accidental
life is not purposely unkind
though to those who struggle in the harshness so ready at hand
this matters not
sometimes there seems little remedy and yet
be with each other, witness to the end
hold and give comfort, all are in need
just this is enough
just this is all there is
just this
flowers have died despite care
we too shrivel in the dry hot wind
we wait upon rain in the evening
placing hope in the massing gray clouds
neighbors murmur to each other
tonight I have heard it will come
one places an umbrella beside the door
another his rain boots
and one carefully checks her water gauge
remember how recently it poured everyday
vegetables rotted before they could be picked
ants invaded homes to escape the wet
streets became fast-flowing creeks
drought, flooding, we move through it all
with eyes closed and fingers crossed
believing that superstitious behaviour will save us
instead we are being delivered
to the consequences of turning away
when shall we mourn
how shall we grieve
how can I not remember you? how can I forget?
at the market you would gently pick through summer squash
to find the ones that were just the color of the sun
and hold a blueberry to the sky before tasting it for sweetness,
then at home, you would spread all we bought in riotous display
and circle it talking aloud to yourself of the delicious possibilites.
sometimes when we cooked, you’d dance around the kitchen
and grab my hands to pull me in until I joined you.
you said I was too serious always and your job was to make me laugh.
oh love, long ago and too soon gone love, you did that so well
that still I remember your lessons and the beauty of your smile.
did I hold you enough? no, never enough, yet I tried to the very end.
though you slipped away to wander the unknown fields of death,
you remain with me in unexpected ways, forever my abiding joy;
forever my happiness; forever my heart.
not a stranger
someone whose days I do not know
journeying to another shore
my heart breaks with this knowledge
so should yours though you do not see
her smile filling her eyes
her face mapped by life still being lived
let it touch you nonetheless
this is how we love each other
our hearts fractured by beautiful sadness
our hearts broken open
(for Beryl)
we lucky ones never fought in war
but we all love some who have
war that people argue over
tell stories about or refuse to discuss at all
war that took them away and sent them back
kept part of them in some far away place
war that made strangers of their hearts
sent their eyes into a distant gaze
war that continues to wreck them
wrecks us all as we try and fail
knowing this we decide again and again
that we will fight wars and
fighters will come home or not
in the end none escape
we cannot seem to learn
I was young once never young enough
to call myself a flower
dance barefoot in the grass
my lover wove garlands of clover
tossed them at my head
I threw them back at her laughed
within a year she was dead
I imagined I would follow
yet now here I am
picking clover on the hillside
missing her still
